


Drop

by DarkShadows_EvilMind



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward first dates, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Dom-Curious Richie Tozier, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Dubious Consent, Eddie Kaspbrak Deserves Better, Falling In Love, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, No Aftercare, Richie Tozier is a Good Friend, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex Club, Soft Richie Tozier, Sub Eddie Kaspbrak, Subdrop, Subspace, and awkward, and maybe more - Freeform, for a little bit - Freeform, they're soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 158,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24066193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadows_EvilMind/pseuds/DarkShadows_EvilMind
Summary: Richie is totally only going to the sex club tonight to get material for his next tour—not because he's a newbie kinkster who's worried about being Forever Alone. Alibi and all, Richie gets a little more than he bargained for when he comes across an asthmatic submissive cowering beneath a table with no inhaler and no Dom in sight. He sees to it that the man, Eddie, gets home safe but can't seem to get him out his head after they part ways.What's left to do except, you know, bring him coffee in the morning?
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Original Male Character(s), Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 163
Kudos: 359





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, friends! Mind the tags, also sorry this isn't smutty at the start. It's a plot dust bunny I needed to clear out. 
> 
> Also, do we really need to see Eddie get abused by a man using Dom as a title to get away with abuse? No. Please, no. Maybe smut later between our two safe/sane/consenting heroes when the winds blow us the way. (Richie is a noob, Eddie is once bitten twice shy, it's a good time.)
> 
> Please do not take this work as an analysis of the BDSM community. It is the opposite. It is BDSM gone wrong. The club they're in is seedy and does not vet its performers. It's a bad place and Eddie has a bad time. Eddie should also realize he is not as self-sufficient as his "Dom" expects him to be, and should not "play" with him based on that alone. Please always be safe/sane/consensual! Also, if you know you're not in the right headspace, never, _ever_ force yourself or talk yourself into playing! This has been my TED talk.

Eddie fussed with the last of the straps on his red, vegan-leather harness. It was new and aside from the one time he’d tried it on when it arrived, he’d never worn it before. He was learning that it was a bitch to fasten, especially since _somebody_ wasn’t offering to help, and though he’d gotten it somewhat in place, the straps all felt too loose or too tight and just looked...unflattering when he stared at himself in the mirror. The shoulder straps were alright since they buckled in the front, and the strap across his chest was okay, but the one between his shoulder blades and the v-pattern assortment of others in the middle of his back were just… 

He could see when he turned around that the lengths were all mismatched and terrible. They were supposed to make a nice, even pattern, connecting the front strap of his harness to the back where the strong metal loops were—where his wrist cuffs could be attached. Instead, they all looked loose and flimsy. Some were tightened to the third notch, others just the second. He couldn’t _reach,_ and no matter how hard he tried, they all ended up just… 

Ugh. Eddie was so frustrated he could cry. 

Was a helping hand really too much to ask? They were going to a fucking _party,_ for Christ’s sake. They were supposed to do an exhibit together. Eddie didn’t want to go there looking like a sloppy mess that didn’t even deserve to _have_ a Dom, let alone one good enough to run a presentation. 

“You about done in th—oh, Jesus Christ, Eddie. You look like a fucking mess.” The black bag Mark had in his hands was thrown onto the floor and Eddie rolled his eyes as he turned back toward the mirror. 

“I told you I needed help,” Eddie said, wincing as Mark’s less than gentle fingers started undoing and refastening the straps of his harness. He made each and every one too tight, but whenever Eddie complained, he was rewarded with a slap to the ass that, honestly, he wasn’t really in the mood for. 

“There. I don’t understand why that’s so hard for you. Get your cuffs on—”

“Can’t I wait until we’re at the club? I don’t want the cab driver to—ow!” Eddie’s hand shot up to cover his stinging cheek, his left eye watering from the slap. 

“You do as you're told. Now get them on. I’m not having you walk in there half dressed. Hurry up.”

“Can I get my collar please?” Eddie asked, his voice soft and meek. 

He wasn’t in the right headspace for this, and part of him kept screaming that this was hardly a scene at all. It had been happening more and more, Mark hitting him before the collar was around his neck. They’d agreed that the collar was the signal which marked the beginning of their scenes, but the more time Eddie spent at Mark’s apartment, the less his collar seemed to matter to the other man. 

“Yeah, hang on. It’s on the dresser. Let me get it.” 

While Mark rummaged around for the collar, Eddie did as he was told and put on the wrist cuffs that came with the harness. They were still rough and new, not worn down like his old ones. He was going to end up with blisters from them and he just _knew it._

“That’s my good boy. You look so sexy like this.”

Eddie held still while his collar was fitted around his neck, snug without choking—that came later. Eddie did feel the butterflies start up in his stomach as Mark’s hands slid over his harness and exposed skin. He could see the man’s reflection in the mirror, staring right back at him while caressing and squeezing him. Slowly, Eddie tried to sink into it. 

Himself, submissive.

Mark, the Dom. Never _his_ Dom, though. Just Dom. Slaves didn’t get to _have_ anything.

Eddie didn’t ever really fancy himself a slave, finding that lifestyle a little too intense for a control freak like himself to handle, but for the sake of their scenes, he allowed Mark to treat him like one. He knew he shouldn’t, that there were “plenty of other Doms out there” who might treat him a little more the way he wanted them to, but Eddie had yet to meet a single other person willing and able to put up with him for longer than one night. And control freak Eddie Kaspbrak wasn’t exactly a one night stand kind of guy.

Compromise, Eddie told himself.

“Slave?”

“Yes, Sir?” Eddie asked, still not quite ready to take the dive into his headspace. 

“Tonight is really special. It’s very important to me. You know that, don’t you?” Mark asked him this while bringing him the clothes he was to put on over his harness that would be stripped from him as soon as they entered the club—save for his black, silk underwear. Those would be taken a little later.

“Yes, Sir. I know.”

“So you know if you embarrass me like last time, I’m leaving your ass at the bar and you can get yourself home. Do you understand me?”

Eddie rolled his eyes—and was smacked twice as hard as the first time.

“Mark!”

“Are you trying to play tonight, or not? Because I can call someone else!” Mark yelled, he looked frustrated beyond belief and it made Eddie’s chest clench. He didn’t _want_ Mark to call one of his slave friends to fill in at the party tonight. He didn’t want Mark that close to anyone else… He was Eddie’s partner of three years, his Dom for over two of them, and any time Mark performed with someone else—male or female—Eddie was left feeling...cheated. 

Maybe he was in the wrong subculture, Eddie thought to himself as he rubbed the sting out of his cheek. Maybe he just wasn’t cut out for this...or wasn’t built for it…or didn’t _deserve_ a Dom no matter how much he craved one. 

He _loved_ Mark, and as far as Eddie was concerned, no one else was ever going to love him… What with all his food sensitivities and allergies and medications and preferences and stuffy day job—no other Dom in the entire world was ever going to put up with him. 

“Sorry, Sir,” Eddie said, rubbing his cheek. “Please don’t be mad, Sir. I won’t embarrass you. I won’t drop in public this time. I won’t make a scene, Sir. Promise...” 

Eddie had been kept away from Mark’s demonstrations and shows for over three months because he’d dropped after a scene. He knew his own needs and typically knew how to care for himself, but something had just gone wrong—Eddie couldn’t even place his finger on what—and he’d gotten lost in subspace only to come crashing down on the floor in a crying, shaky mess while all the on-lookers stared and got uncomfortable. _You made me look like I took on some novice! You made the whole room look at me like I had no idea what I was even doing! Which one of us has been in this business for eight years, Eddie!? Me! And you made me look like a fool!_

Because that’s what this was...business.

Eddie’d even get paid a share of what the dungeon offered Mark for his performance. Not a lot, but enough to cover the next month’s coffee budget.

“You’d better not. Because if you make a scene, I’m leaving you there. I’m not kidding. You know how to take care of yourself. You need to act like it. Take responsibility this time.”

“Yes, Sir,” Eddie answered, keeping his head down. He _wouldn’t_ drop this time.

He _wouldn’t._

( ) ( ) ( )

“Do these pants make my ass look fat or phat?” Richie asked, popping out of Beverly’s guestroom for the sixth time, showing off the not-exactly-tight-fitting black leather pants he’d bought. They were far from snug, but not quite baggy. Real motorcycle pants, he thought, which he could wear elsewhere than the club tonight. 

“For the last time, you’re _not fat!”_ Beverly exclaimed, rolling her eyes playfully before grabbing up the throw pillow on the couch beside her and chucking it toward Richie’s head. Her aim, as true as ever, hit him right in the face. 

“No, phat like p-h-a-t. Does my ass look phat?” Richie asked, shaking his ass at her again just to catch the other throw pillow. 

“You look _fine!”_ She shouted, seeming torn between tired of Richie’s bullshit and excited for him. 

He was in town from LA to get some inspiration for his next comedy tour, and had decided that one of his sights-to-see should be the bar off Old Lex which hosted BDSM nights three times a week and did special shows almost every night in its basement. When it came to the lifestyle, he was a big fat noob, but was interested and he liked it. He spent a lot of time chatting with strangers on message boards—like, a lot of time—and watched about a million instructional videos on it (and a million smutty videos, too). Logistically, he was an expert. Physically, he was still just a big fat awkward shy nerdy uncoordinated dad-bod-having bespectacled noob. Every sub’s dream, right?

Yeah, not so much… Richie had maybe one actual D/s relationship under his belt that ended with him getting ghosted for reasons still unknown, and he had since been forever cast to the realm of kinky one night stands, online hookups, and the occasional tryst and fling.

The club, he thought, would be a first for him—he was always too afraid of getting recognized or photographed in LA to even consider going—and even if he didn’t meet a special someone (he had no real hope that he would), it could still work its way into his material. What better way to hide the fact that he was a real kinkster than to play one on stage...right? 

Okay, okay. He was _panicking._

He was panicking because he wanted really, badly to meet a person, even if it was stupid because they’d live in New York and he was in LA. He was panicking because he didn’t want to go and get rejected, or go and have a bad time, or go and get made fun of for being such a noob. The online communities he was a part of were always so accepting and kind, but who was to say it’d be the same in real life? He didn’t _know_ anyone who would be going to the club tonight. He didn’t want to go and then...not fit in. 

“I don’t know, Beverly. I don’t know if these pants are gonna fool anyone.”

“Fool anyone? Richie, just go have _fun!_ If you keep it up, you’re going to stress yourself out and you’ll be calling me to come get you before you’re even in the door.”

“You could always come in with me,” Richie offered, hoping she’d change her stance and say yes.

“Absolutely not. No. Not my scene, Honey.” She shook her head like she’d just bit into a lemon and shuddered.

“What, no ball bags and leather whips for my dear Ms. Marsh?” Richie asked, putting on an Old Hollywood accent. “No sense of adventure? No daddy issues, I see!”

“Beep-Beep, Richie...” She gave him a dirty look, making him realize what he’d said. 

“Fuck, my bad. I’m nervous—I’m really fucking nervous. I don’t think I can do th—”

“Just put in a ball gag and go. They’ll all love you if they can’t hear you talking,” she added, smiling at him in her cheeky little way.

“Do you have one to spare? I don’t think I have enough time to stop at the sex shop.”

“Get dressed!” Beverly said, chucking the last pillows at him as he retreated back to the guest room.

He didn’t know if he could do this…

( ) ( ) ( )

“Is this okay?” Mark asked, cupping his slave’s face in his hands to hold it still against the metal table. The slave was on his back, arms bound to the corners of the table with his legs attached to a spreader bar which was then hooked to the center of his harness—keeping his legs up and spread wide, exposing all of his most sensitive places for the Doms in the room to play with. It was truly one of the most arousing things Mark had ever seen, and—in his typical fashion—his slave was starting to panic and was about to ruin the whole thing. He was already breathing deeply, rapidly, chest heaving and quivering as his huge, brown eyes flitted back and forth across the dimly lit room. “Answer me, slave. Is this okay?” Mark asked again. Oh, his stupid little toy was going to pay for making him ask twice. 

His slave agreed to come tonight, to partake in the demonstration and the show. Maybe Mark hadn’t exactly mentioned outright that there would be another Dom joining them, or that the session would be interactive—but if the slave would just let go, just give in, it wouldn’t be half as scary as he was making it out to be. In fact, Mark was fairly certain the slave would love it if he gave it a chance.

But, if he couldn’t take it, he knew his safeword—and there was absolutely no shame in testing a submissive’s limits and respecting them when it said no. Demonstrations were often better for it.

But the slave didn’t say no, he just kept panting at staring and breathing heavily while the other Dom tapped his flogger against his palm. 

Mark leaned down a little closer to his slave’s face, letting their noses touch just a little before slowly caressing his slave’s jaw with his thumbs. 

“Relax. Breathe… Take a breath. Is this okay?” Mark tried again, keeping his voice low and calm. Finally, the slave gave a tiny nod and the show commenced. 

Mark stepped back and let the Master do his work. The older man was well-known in the clubs and dungeons and had his own web series to teach tips and tricks around sub upkeep. 

The Master addressed his audience briefly, then leaned down by the slave’s head in the same way Mark had moments before. The two shared some quiet, private conversation, and Mark watched with a twinge of jealousy as the tension and fight started to bleed out of his slave’s muscles the longer the Master talked to him. 

The Master asked a question; the slave nodded. The Master said something, the slave shook his head—a rapid no, no, no gesture Mark was far too used to getting whenever he proposed something new. 

Mark licked his lips, imagining that the tension would surely come back now. The Master had obviously told the slave what was about to happen to him and the slave didn’t like it.

Except, a moment later, the Master said something and the slave started to smile a little—getting the other Doms in the room to “aww” as if watching some shitty RomCom. 

“And now, we commence,” the Master said—the segue into a scene in each and every video he had in his web series. 

Mark watched in horror and disgust as the slave melted into it, so easily—so much more quickly than he ever had with Mark. His heavy breathing was back, but his deep breaths were mixed with low moans between sharp yips of pain whenever the flogger or the paddle or the cane struck him. By the time Mark rejoined the stage for the second half of the demo, the slave was already gone into his headspace—staring straight through Mark as he leaned down to check in with him. 

“Color?” Mark whispered, only to receive the same word echoed back to him. “Yes, slave, what’s your color?”

“Color… Color,” he said, a smile on his lips as he sighed out the word despite the tears running from his eyes. 

Mark looked up at the Master who hadn’t been able to hear their whispered discussion and gave a small nod. 

If Eddie couldn’t keep his damned self under control when playing with strangers, then this was what he deserved.

( ) ( ) ( )

Something about this club just… It wasn’t right.

Richie couldn’t put his finger on it, but he’d had non-stop bad vibes since he’d walked through the door and it had only gotten worse after he’d gone downstairs to the dungeon to watch a show. The submissive in the scene was hot as fuck, and though Richie hadn’t been prepared for guy-on-guy action as the first demo of the night, he was not about to complain. The club boasted itself as All Accepting, All Inclusive. He let it live up to its name.

Even so, something about the chemistry just seemed off between the pair that started out. Richie had seen better chemistry between johns and prostitutes in the videos he’d watched online than these two men had. The lean submissive in his too-tight red harness honestly seemed scared to death of his Dom and Richie didn’t like it. One of the women in the room was watching with the same sour expression Richie was and he leaned over to ask her if she knew anything about them.

“Yeah… Mark, the Dom, he comes here a lot. Different guy every time,” she said. “He’s usually better than this.”

“So they’re, like, strangers then?” Richie asked before getting self-conscious and tacking on, “Sorry, I’m a noob. I’ll shut up.”

“No, no! Sweetie, you’re fine. Don’t worry. Uh, so Mark is the Dom, and I _think_ that’s his partner. I don’t think he has much experience,” the woman said.

Then, the man standing behind her leaned forward to chime in, “He doesn’t. Last time he was here, dude almost passed out getting off the table and then had a full-on panic attack. Right in front of everybody. Didn’t think we’d see him again to be honest with you.”

“Shit… Does that happen?” Richie asked. “A lot, I mean? Is that normal?”

“I don’t think so,” the woman said. 

Behind her, the man just shook his head and went back to watching the show. He, Richie realized, was grimacing, too. 

“Should somebody, like, I don’t know...”

“They talk it all out beforehand,” the guy said. “The sub’s just not cut out for it.” 

The woman passed a disapproving look back toward him which he missed and Richie decided it’d be best if he bit his tongue. 

After a moment of watching the submissive start to have what sounded a whole awful lot like an asthma attack, the second Dom stepped up onto the stage and took over. Richie recognized the man from a few videos he’d watched, and stared in fascination as a few brief sentences had the sub calm and collected—smiling even!—before he got the show on the road.

It was almost like magic. To Richie, it screamed that the issue here wasn’t with the sub, but the Dom. As soon as the Max or Mark or whoever had stepped away and this other guy came in, the sub was relaxed. By the time they had switched from impact play to rope bondage positions, the sub was like putty in _both_ the Doms’ hands. He answered when he was spoken to, repeated what he was told to repeat, _orgasmed_ on command when it came to insertions—holy fuck was he hot. 

Richie was about to second guess his opinion of the place based on that performance alone, but as soon as the other Dom left the stage and it was just Mark or whoever with his submissive again, that bad chemistry came right back into play. 

Hadn’t the poor guy had enough? It’d been like forty minutes and he was shaking on the table. No one brought him any water even though he was obviously exhausted, and now the Dom was gearing up for more impact play? No, that didn’t seem right. Something about it didn’t sit right with him and Richie found himself backing out of the basement and going upstairs to the bar for another drink. 

Maybe he wasn’t cutout for this lifestyle after all…

( ) ( ) ( )

Eddie was shivering, feeling cold as if he’d been plunged into a bucket of ice water and then thrown out in the snow. He had little black socks on his feet, but the icy tile of the bathroom floor pierced straight through them. His arms were wrapped around his chest as he trembled, and the damp cloth his Dom was using to clean up his mess felt frigid as well. Every time the cloth pressed against him, he almost lost his balance and would sway back and forth. 

His eyes felt swollen and heavy. His neck felt sore and weak. Wrists, hurt. Ankles, hurt. Ass, really hurt. Asshole, really, really hurt. Dick, sore. Balls, aching. Harness, too tight. Cuffs, too tight. Cutting. 

His whole body was a throbbing wound and it made him dizzy every time his heart beat. 

“You embarrassed me. Do you know that?” His Dom asked. His voice sounded echo-y and so far away that Eddie struggled to understand him. 

He didn’t feel attached to his body save for the throbbing pain and the dry lump in his mouth that he suspected was his tongue. Everything around him seemed blurry, like a monitor at work with the contrast turned up too high. It was giving him a headache, too. Like he needed more things to make him feel like crying again.

“Are you listening to me?”

“’M...’M thir—I’m thirsty,” Eddie murmured, swaying back and forth more violently as his Dom wiped harder against his lower abdomen, clearing away dried flecks of come. The cold rag made the muscles of his stomach clench and all at once, Eddie realized he was nauseous, too. 

“I _said,_ you _embarrassed_ me. Do you _know_ that?”

The cloth was suddenly pulled away and his Dom’s hands were no longer on him to help keep him upright. Eddie took one step forward to brace himself against the wall and his vision was immediately overcome with bright flashing lights for a moment or two before he caught himself. 

“Sir? Sir—Sir, I’m… I’m really thirsty,” Eddie panted, squeezing his eyes shut against the throbbing pain. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this _awful._ He felt drunk… _Concussed._ All he wanted in the world was a cup of water and a blanket—maybe to lay down for a little bit.

“What did I tell you would happen?” His Dom asked, still sounding so far off and distant.

“Hap...Happen?” Eddie found both of his palms to be gripping the brick wall, his shivering making his face strike against the cold surface a few times before he gave up and rested his cheek against it. He felt as if he’d pressed his face to a block of ice. 

It made his headache that much worse and he shuddered against the pain.

“What did I tell you would happen if you embarrassed me like this again?”

Embarrassed? Eddie thought he’d done good… The one Dom said he did good—said he was good, said, _you’re doing so good, little one._ The Dom said he was good, so why was he an embarrassment? 

It wasn’t like the last time… He didn’t fall down in front of anyone. He didn’t make a scene or cry any more than the regular subs did. The other Dom said he did good, so why was _his_ Dom so mad?

He just needed some water… 

There was a loud bang and Eddie’s head tipped back from the wall. As soon as he started trying to support himself, the flashing lights came back and he ended up in a heap on the ground—on the gross, tile floor of the D/s private bathroom. 

His Dom wasn’t there.

“Sir?” Eddied asked, feeling sick his stomach as the fall started to ignite a chain reaction of aches and pains. “S-Sir?” 

He found his silk underwear on the bathroom counter and pulled them on once he had the strength to stand and shakily wiped himself off a little more with the discarded cloth. After washing his hands, he cupped them to catch water from the sink and slurped up as many handfuls as he could—until his vision started to go white again and he was on the floor a second time, in twice as much pain as the first. 

He cried for his Dom again and was met with only silence and the thumping bass from the club overhead. 

He was on his own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys all so much for your warm reception! I'm really glad you like the story so far. I was super nervous putting it up and you helped take the nerves away so I can just focus on writing. Thank you!

Richie was feeling a tiny bit better than he had been after watching the show in the basement. There was some exciting play going on over by the couches that had much better chemistry, and though Richie was too shy to really make a move, he did notice a few hotties in collars checking him out. He’d had two whiskey sours and was feeling pretty good, but not nearly brave enough to join in with the festivities. He guessed he played the part of a voyeur, just excited to watch. 

It was an experience and a half, and he would be sure to tell Beverly so. He had jotted down a couple thoughts for his joke book and was sure more ideas would come to him later. Though part of him was pretty sure he’d need to come back a second time in order to really do any quality observation. He was just too anxious tonight, and intimidated by all the newness. He wished he could have at least known one person, just to feel less like the odd one out. 

Richie pondered this to himself while making his way back toward the bar to get his final whiskey sour and cash out for the night. He kept his head ducked in a subconscious attempt not to be noticed, and maybe a little bit because he felt out of place amongst all the couples and thruples and groups. 

So much for meeting a special someone when he was too afraid to even make anybody’s acquaintance.

He had just signed his receipt and left a cash tip in the glass jar for the bartender when a pale figure caught his attention sliding along by the floor on the other side of the bar. He thought for a moment that it was an animal, then realized it was a man—and probably a sub in the middle of a pet-play scene. He watched a little more closely, cursing his bad eyesight as the pale expanse of skin disappeared behind the legs of a bar table and its stools. The guy stopped there, curled up against the wall with the legs of the stool in front of him, shielding him almost completely from view. If Richie didn’t know he was there, he would’ve completely missed him. 

Richie swept his gaze back and forth, looking to see if anyone else saw what he did. There was no Dom over by the table. The people at the bar were clearly not even aware the man was there. He was all by himself and _hiding._

With his whiskey sour still clutched in his hand, Richie slowly started making his way over to the table where the man was crouched down. He kept an eye out for anyone who might seem interested, or like they were paying attention—maybe, Richie thought, this was some kind of scene set up by a couple and he was about to barge in like a fucking idiot. 

Only it became more and more clear as he got closer that this man was not okay—and that if this was a scene, it was fucking sadistic. As he knelt down by the stool, he could hear the man wheezing in raspy, drawn out gasps. Once Richie was level with him on the floor, his eyes widened in shock.

Fuck, he recognized this guy! It was the sub from the demo in the basement—still in his harness and nothing else save for a pair of black socks and underwear that barely covered anything. He had his arms wrapped around his knees and was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering, and up close Richie could see where all the leather straps were digging into his skin. He was bleeding in some places from the leather cutting into him, and he had untreated welts and cuts all over from the play in the basement...if it could even be called “play” now. His wrists were even bleeding, streaks of black blood running down his pale skin—dried and flaking in some spots, fresh in others.

“Hey? Hey, you alright? You okay, man?” Richie asked, reaching out to put a hand on the other man’s shoulder in a spot that didn’t look too sore or bloody. 

The man continued wheezing and trembling, but his eyes snapped open and he lifted his head.

“You alright?” Richie asked again, squeezing his shoulder gently. His skin was burning hot and covered in sweat despite how much he shivered. “Hey, can you hear me?” 

“C-Can’t b-breathe,” the man choked out, one of his hands going to the collar around his neck and pulling at it. Richie moved to help unfasten it, but the man flinched away and fixed him with a suspicious, untrusting glare while still wheezing.

“You can’t breathe?” Richie repeated, running his hand through his hair and adjusting his glasses. “Okay—Okay, shit. Um, d-do you… Or, uh, are you have—having an allergic reaction? Do you need a...a, what’s it called, fuck, uh—Epi...something. Something?” Richie stammered, stumbling over his words like a fucking moron. 

“As—Asthma. In-Inhaler. C-Can’t—Can’t breathe.”

“Shit! You have asthma? Okay—Okay, did you bring your inhaler? Did you have it when you came in?” Richie asked, feeling a little relieved when the man nodded. “Okay. Okay, is it with your Dom? Does he have it? Do you know where he went?”

The man shook his head, still wheezing horribly. He seemed so small and weak, curled in on himself with his knees pressed to his heaving chest. His large eyes were fearful and sad—bloodshot. 

“Okay… Shit, where did they put your clothes?” Richie asked, getting a small shake of the head in response. 

“Fuck, alright—hang on. I’m gonna go ask somebody, okay? I’ll be right back. I’ll be right back, I promise!” He left his drink on the table and hurried over to the bar, asking the bartender if he knew where the performers might keep their clothes—or if anyone knew where the Dom was who had been part of the demo in the basement.

He was directed to the bouncer at the front who told him the Dom he was asking about, Mark, had left almost half an hour ago. He wouldn’t give Richie the submissive’s clothes at first, but when Richie snapped that the man was having an asthma attack and needed his inhaler, suddenly the whole bundle was dropped into his hands.

Richie felt around the pocket of the black athletic pants and found a wallet and phone which he ignored, and the inhaler. He kept it clutched in his palm as he held the bundle of clothes and shoes to his chest and hurried back over to the table where the man was still curled up and shaking against the wall. There was a woman with him now, and her Dom behind her taking off his black hoodie which the woman quickly wrapped around the other man’s shoulders. 

“I have his inhaler,” Richie said as he reached them, setting the bundle of clothes aside on the table by his drink before kneeling down to fit the inhaler into the man’s palm. “Here you go. It’s okay—it’s okay, just breathe. Okay?” 

The man was trembling so hard as he shook the plastic aspirator and brought it to his lips. It took two tries for him to get enough of the medicine into his lungs, but once he had, he slowly started to calm down. In that time, the Dom who had given up his sweater had left and returned with a large glass of water—no ice—and a napkin full of assorted snacks and treats from behind the bar. 

“There you go, sweetie,” the woman said, helping to support the glass while the man took a drink. “There you go. That’s better, huh?”

“Just a little at a time. Don’t make yourself sick,” the Dom said, handing his napkin of snacks to the woman who waited until the man took his fill of water before offering them to him.

“C-Can’t… Peanuts, can’t—can’t have nuts,” the man wheezed, still struggling to catch his breath after gulping down the water. 

The Dom was quick to take the napkin back, leaving it on top of the table before hurrying back to the bar and returning with gummy bears and a little glass of what Richie hoped was just Coke. The man was so shaky he didn’t need any booze in his system.

“Here, sweets. Try these, okay? You need to get your sugar up,” the woman said, holding out the candies to the man who clutched onto his water glass as if for dear life. It was nearly empty and all Richie could think to do was to take it and get it refilled. 

Getting the man to let go of it was a challenge, but the woman coaxed him into it with her gentle, soft voice. When Richie got back from the bar, two more women had joined the cluster and were trying to help. 

“Is he with you?” One of them asked as Richie reclaimed his spot on the man’s left side. 

“No—No, I just found him like this. They said at the door his Dom just ditched him here. That the guy just up and left,” Richie said, trying to speak softly to her so the man wouldn’t hear. He seemed preoccupied with chugging more water and then nibbling on gummy bears. 

“Ditched him? Seriously? That’s fucked up!” The woman said, looking to her friend or partner who rolled her eyes in disgust. 

“Men fucking suck,” the other woman tacked on. Richie didn’t take it to heart. At this point, yeah, they kind of fucking did. This guy had been downstairs in the basement with _two_ Doms—two! And both had abandoned him when it was obvious he had something going on with him, whether it was sub-drop or something else. Richie didn’t know enough to be able to tell, but he didn’t think it was in good taste to leave your sub high and dry after a scene like _that._

Slowly but surely, the man started coming around. He took another puff from his inhaler and had cocooned himself in the Dom’s hoodie, the last of his tremors fading away. 

“Hey, do you want help getting dressed?” Richie asked, pulling the clothes down from the table and offering them to the man. “Or need help standing up,” he tried instead when the man just stared at him. 

Brown eyes. Big, beautiful brown eyes. Richie looked away from them before he could get called a creep for staring. What kind of an asshole checked someone out when they were literally on the floor brought back from the brink of death?

“Um… Yeah—I… Thanks. Yeah, help getting up,” the man stammered, starting to shuffle around to get his feet beneath him. 

Richie was careful not to pull on him or hold him too tightly as he helped the man onto his feet. He slowly slipped into his athletic pants, then handed the hoodie back to the Dom—flinging it, kind of like it had a spider on it or something—and then pulled on his own long-sleeved sweater. His fingers shook as he started to unfasten the leather cuffs from his wrists and then his collar, slamming it on the table so hard it shook and nearly upset Richie’s long-forgotten drink. 

“Thanks, guys,” the man said, looking around him at the small group which had surrounded him. “I’m—I’m fine now. Thanks. What do...what do I owe for the...the Coke or whatever?”

“Oh, sweetie, don’t worry about it,” the woman said, rubbing the man’s shoulder and giving him a soft little smile that he didn’t return. 

Richie was still helping him stand upright as he slipped on his shoes, wondering if his hand had overstayed its welcome on the man’s arm or if he was okay. Only a real moron would overthink such a stupid little detail, and yet there Richie was almost panicking about it—worrying that the guy was going to think he was a creep.

“Thank. I’m fine now. Thank you. Sorry.”

The two women offered a few comforting words then went on their way, and a moment later the Dom and other woman were slinking back toward the bar leaving Richie alone with him.

“Sorry you had to see that,” the man said, grabbing up his cuffs and the collar. He stared at them in his hands a moment, fingers tightening into fists around the leather so hard it squeaked, and then let out a heavy sigh. 

“Hey, no, it’s cool. I was just worried, you know? I-I didn’t know what to think. Thought you were gonna die for a second,” Richie said, realizing that he was the one shaking now. 

“I might’ve,” the man said, looking down at his collar and cuffs. His eyes were so swollen with tears and bloodshot, and the expression in them was so close to total devastation that Richie felt he might start to cry just looking at him. He couldn’t even imagine how awful this poor guy must feel, all alone at this weird club after that intense scene in the basement—no Dom to help him through it, no friends around to get him his inhaler when he had a fucking asthma attack.

“Do, uh… Do you need any help getting home?” Richie asked, hoping he didn’t come across like a perv—like some creep trying to take advantage of him. He just didn’t want anything else to happen to the man tonight. He didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep again not knowing if the dude got home or if he passed out on the sidewalk in New York and died...or got kidnapped by some monster who watched him leave the club, that knew he was unwell, and took advantage of him. 

“Uh… Probably get a cab. I think I’ll get a cab,” the man said, patting the pocket of his pants and pulling out a cell phone. He checked it, rolled his eyes and let out a sharp breath, then looked like he was about to cry again before putting it back in his pocket and slamming his collar and cuffs back down on the table. “Fuck this,” he said, leaving the collar behind as he started for the door of the club. 

Richie fumbled for a second, but ended up grabbing the discarded items and following the man out to the sidewalk.

“Hey! Hey, wait a second—wait!”

“Look, just throw those in the trash, okay? I don’t want them. I don’t need any more help. Thanks for getting my inhaler, but I can take it from here, okay? I’m a grown fucking man! I can take care of myself! I don’t need help.” He said this even though his legs were shaking again and the chill in the air had him crossing his arms and rubbing them.

Whatever message had been on his phone clearly upset him worse, and Richie had a sinking suspicion it was from his Dom. Possibly even that man belittling him and telling him to fix himself up and get home. Did that asshole really think that was okay? That it was an appropriate end to a public play session? Just leaving his sub behind and telling him to take care of himself and “be a man”? It would explain the sub’s outburst, his defensiveness, when Richie tried to offer more help.

“Okay… But are you sure you don’t want a lift home? My friend Beverly lives a few blocks over. She was going to come get me. It wouldn’t be a problem for us to get you home," Richie said, wondering if bringing a woman into the mix might make the man feel more safe. Beverly was honestly more intimidating than most of the guys Richie knew, but she wouldn’t hurt a fly unless it buzzed in her face first—and there’d be no reason for her to show that dangerous side to this guy on a short drive home. “We can drop you a couple streets over or something if you’re afraid I’m a serial killer. My mom always told me I remind her of Ted Bundy and I don’t really see it, but I could get it if you think I’m a creep.” Fuck, what was with the word vomit? Seriously, could he make it any worse? “I just want to make sure you get home okay.”

The man stared at him, looking suspicious and exhausted all at once. He was still trembling and seemed to hug himself tighter before looking around at the bustling streets—all the noise and the cars and the lights. There were groups of people walking along the sidewalk across the street, and the man followed them with his eyes while looking increasingly more ill at ease.

“You said your...your friend Beverly…?” He asked, looking at Richie nervously. 

“Yeah. Bev was gonna come pick me up. It’s really no trouble to give you a lift.” Richie was wringing his hands around the leather collar and cuffs, feeling awkward just holding them. He realized that the cuffs probably had blood on them, and that the blood was now probably all over his fingers… Shit, he was going to be the dumbass who caught AIDS just from going to a sex club, not even from partaking in the fun.

The man looked him over once more, almost as if sizing him up for a fight, then slowly nodded his head. He must’ve decided he could take Richie in a fight, even with his body so sore and weak.

“Okay… Okay, but you’re _not_ getting my number— _she’s_ not getting my number. I don’t _know_ you and I don’t _want_ to know you!” His eyes were tearing up and he was swaying back and forth on his feet so much it looked like he was about to fall. Shit, he was about to fucking fall.

Richie dropped one of the leather cuffs as he hurried to the man’s side to help keep him upright. As soon as he made contact, the man hissed in pain and shuddered, his knees buckling beneath him to the extent that Richie, for a brief moment, was the only thing holding him up. Slowly, he led the man over toward a metal bench alongside the bar and helped him to sit down—not missing the way he winced and shivered with pain as he did. Once the man was seated, Richie grabbed the cuff he had dropped and set to fastening all the buckles together so the closed collar had the two cuffs fastened around it. 

When he looked at his hands, he could see something dark staining his fingers and palms in some places in the dim lamplight. The man must’ve noticed, too, because he slowly fished around in one of his pockets and came out with a pack of tissues and a little bottle of coconut scented hand sanitizer. 

“My name’s Eddie,” he said, as he accepted the bottle of sanitizer back and worked some of it over his hands. And by some, Richie meant damn near half the bottle.

“Richie.” He almost offered his hand, but then decided against it. He put the dirty tissue in his pocket and texted Beverly to let her know about the change in plans. He promised to fill her in on the details later, but asked that she just try to be understanding. This whole thing was weird for him, and about to be even weirder for her, but he didn’t want to make this man, Eddie—cute name, wasn’t it?—any more uncomfortable than he already was.

Her response was a simple: _You never make it easy do you? ETA 12mins_

( ) ( ) ( )

His new “friend” wouldn’t quit talking. It did nothing for Eddie’s headache and he was regretting more and more having accepted the offer for a ride. He didn’t even know why he agreed, really. The dude he was with was fucking annoying as hell. He wouldn’t stop talking, wouldn’t throw the cuffs and collar away, wouldn’t quit fussing with his stupid thick-framed glasses…

Eddie thought this guy could really learn the meaning of “comfortable silence,” but no matter how much of a cold shoulder he gave him, Richie yammered on. 

Maybe it was for the best, though. Having Richie yapping in his ear _did_ distract from how many other parts of his body hurt, aside from his heart which felt skewered and severed and just…

Just…

“Oh! There’s Beverly. Do you need help standing up?” Richie was asking, having already leapt onto his feet. 

It’d probably be a month before Eddie could move that fast again. He had always prided himself on being trim and fit for his age, but now he felt every bit as middle-aged as he was. His prime was past him… His youth, gone. What the fuck had he been thinking even coming out tonight? The time for him to be some fun, outgoing, submissive—in public and in a demo in particular—was gone. Way far gone. He was _too old..._ He was too everything. 

He let Richie help him stand, but tried not to limp or stumble as he was led to the sleek black car that had pulled up in front of the club. Richie opened the back door for him and handed him his collar and cuffs—which Eddie just about threw on the sidewalk in frustration. Once the door was closed, Richie hopped into the front seat and was immediately turning around to start flapping his yap again.

“Eddie, this is Beverly. Bev, this is Eds.”

“Don’t—Don’t ever call me Eds,” Eddie snapped. If he let this guy get comfortable, he was going to start asking for his phone number and then get all bent out of shape when Eddie told him no. Maybe if this guy were another submissive he might’ve felt a little more comfortable, but the guy—weird as he was—had Dom written all over him and Eddie didn’t need more trouble. 

“Alright, Eddie, where are we heading?” Beverly asked, looking at him in the rear view mirror. He told her the address of his building, knowing if he asked them to drop him a few streets over, the idiot was going to try walking him home regardless—or follow him in the damn car to “make sure he was safe.”

“Are you going to fasten your seat belt?” Eddie snapped, realizing that while he was still turned around and yammering about God even knows what, the car was dinging softly in protest of the lack of safety equipment on the passenger.

“Oh, shit. I forgot! My bad.” 

“Face forward, Richie. You're bothering the poor guy.” Beverly looked at him through the rear view mirror again and Eddie locked gazes with her for only a moment before turning away. “Sorry you got stuck with this loser taking you home—”

“Hey!”

“He’s annoying, I know, but he’s harmless.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Eddie mumbled, looking out the window at all the cars and people who seemed to be having a wonderful time with their Saturday night. 

There was a time he’d been one of those people...out having fun. Sometimes he’d even have a bit to drink—never a lot, but a gluten free beer here or there, or a glass of wine was nice. There had been a moment, three years ago now, that he’d felt like the king of New York. Whenever he went to bars, women would stare at him and try talking to him. Whenever he felt adventurous and went to the gay bar after work—still in his nice suits—he had gotten so much attention from the other guys. First dates never really went anywhere (he had his sensitivities and allergies to thank for that—who wanted to date someone who couldn’t eat half the shit on the menu?) but he got offers to go on a lot of them. He thought he’d been someone… Something more than a business professional with a nice cushy job and salary. 

Right now, Eddie Kaspbrak felt like a whole lot of nothing. He felt like he did when he’d been young… There was a moment tonight when he’d actually been having a good time, when he felt special and proud of himself for being able to take all that he was being dealt… Apparently, though, he’d done it all wrong and made a fool of himself—and Mark. 

There was a moment on that table he’d felt so whole and complete and _good._ How had that ended up being a bad thing? In place of that euphoria and weightlessness, all Eddie had now was shame twisting up his guts. 

That other Dom, the Master, had acted like he enjoyed Eddie’s performance… Why did he make it seem like that if he really didn’t like him at all? 

Eddie felt absolutely humiliated. He put himself in that situation, let himself be open and vulnerable—let himself be talked into letting someone else play with him when that hadn’t been part of the plan they’d discussed—and then found out he’d ruined the whole demo by slipping into his headspace.

He didn’t even realize it’d happened… He thought he’d been doing good. Why the _fuck_ did that other guy keep telling him he was doing so good when he’d been doing it all _wrong?_ Why hadn’t Mark stepped in and stopped it?

“Alright—is this it?” Beverly’s voice called Eddie out of his thoughts and he lifted his head from the window where it had been resting against his hand. 

Yeah, this was his building alright—and fucking Mark was sitting on the front steps by the buzzer waiting for him to get in.

“Wait, wait! Don’t stop—keep driving.”

“Dude, is that… I oughta get out and punch this guy,” Richie said.

“You will do no such thing,” Beverly said, her voice sounding every bit like Eddie’s mother when she was disappointed. 

“He deserves it,” Richie mumbled before turning around to face Eddie. “Alright, where to? A friend’s house?”

“Um… Fuck, I don’t… Shit.” Eddie ran his fingers through his hair, trying not to panic. It was a _good thing_ Mark had come by to check on him. Why was he freaking out?

No matter how hard he tried, though, Eddie couldn’t talk himself into going back to his apartment with Mark there waiting. He wanted space… He wanted left alone. If he asked for it, Mark was just going to turn it into a fight and Eddie didn’t have the capacity to handle an argument right now. He was hurt—in every way that it was possible to be hurt—and he just wanted left alone.

“Um—Could… Can you take me to a hotel? Any hotel—any _good_ hotel? Just—I just…”

“Richie, can you look that up for me? I’m driving,” Beverly said, getting the man to turn back around in his seat.

“Okay. Um… Let’s see here,” Richie said, talking to himself as he searched hotels on his phone. “No roach motels… Uh, there’s a Holiday Inn—”

“Isn’t there a Hilton near here?” Eddie asked. There was, he recalled, but his head hurt so much he couldn’t bring himself to think up the directions to navigate for them.

“Hilton? Um—Oh! Yeah! It’s kind of a fancy one… But you _did_ say a good hotel.” On and on, he talked about hotels while Eddie tried to keep from having a panic attack in the back seat of Beverly’s nice car. 

It was another ten minutes before they were pulling into a parking deck attached to the Hilton and Eddie was climbing out of the car—only to have Richie follow him. Jesus Christ this guy couldn’t take a hint. 

“Bev, I’m going to make sure he gets upstairs okay. I’ll be right back.”

“You’d better. I’m not paying eighteen dollars,” she said, her tone an odd mixture of serious and playful. “And don’t forget where I parked. I’m not coming looking for you when you get lost.”

The awkward situation only grew worse as Richie escorted him to the front desk. Eddie had to ask for a single bed room while the woman behind the counter eyed him—who probably looked and smelled like a real fucking mess—and then Richie, who smelled better but looked as out of place in the Hilton as Eddie. She read the rate for two guests and tried to ignore it when both he and Richie stated that only one guest would be using the room. Then she quoted him a price higher than what the room was supposed to cost, leaving Eddie irritated enough to shake off his pain-induced stupor just long enough to put her in her place.

“Excuse me, but that’s _not_ the rate. I’m a _gold star_ member of your rewards program _and_ my firm has a partnership with Hilton Worldwide. I don’t know what you think you’re trying to pull here, but if you don’t give me the room at my discounted rate, I _will_ be notifying our travel department first thing Monday morning. I _will_ make sure upper management hears about this! Or, you can just give me my _room,”_ he had to pause in order to peek over the wall of the reception desk in order to read her name badge, “Veronica.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Richie just _had_ to chime in.

“Shut up,” Eddie snapped, passing him the same filthy look he was giving Veronica. 

“Alright, sir, I do apologize… It seems your member discount didn’t apply the first time. Let me try again. Ah, yes. It’s taking this time. One moment.” He ended up in an upgraded suite for twenty-five bucks. Whatever note was on his name in the system must’ve been a pretty damned good one. 

“Are you like...a member of the mafia or something?” Richie asked as they rode the elevator up to his room. 

“If I said yes, would you leave me alone?” Eddie asked. 

“That depends...”

“On what? The hush money?” Eddie passed him a sideways glance, noting the way the other man was fidgeting. If he thought he was about to get Eddie alone in this hotel room and screw him, he really had another thing coming. Fucking creepy asshole… 

“Hush money? Shit, I thought you’d know by now there’s not a force on the planet that could keep my mouth shut.”

“Guess we’ll have to kill you then,” Eddie mumbled, stepping out of the elevator and checking the numbers as he made his way down the hall. 

“Wait, so you _are_ in the mafia! Oh, shit, said that kinda loud...”

“I work at an insurance firm. I’m not in the mafia.”

“Oh… Well, that’s not even half as exciting.”

“No, it’s not. So you can go home now. Show’s over,” Eddie said as he unlocked his door, quickly positioning himself in a way that would block the man from entering if he tried.

Only Richie didn’t try. He stood politely in the hall, though he was fidgeting something awful. It was different seeing him in the warm light of the hotel. The seedy look he’d had back at the club was gone and Eddie was starting to notice just how nervous and almost _shy_ the guy was acting, not like a creep trying to work up the nerve to flirt. He was tall and hunching forward on himself as if trying to appear shorter, or make himself a smaller target… He had a little extra weight around his hips and his leather...motorcycle pants? were a loose fit. No belt to help keep them up, either. The dark red of his underwear was poking out over the top on his left hip where his black, fitted t-shirt had ridden up. 

“Right—Um, listen, I’m really sorry about tonight. That guy—That guy’s a fuckin’ asshole. I know you probably don’t need me to tell you that, but...you know. Uh, I just wanted to make sure you got home—well, this isn’t home, but, you know… Shit.” He was _blushing!_ Eddie almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “Sorry, yeah—I’m gonna go. But, have a good...rest of your night.” 

In Richie’s defense, he did start to walk away.

And, in Eddie’s defense, he did start to close to the hotel room door without even replying to the fumbled goodbye speech. 

He’d almost gotten the door all the way closed before he swung it back open and leaned out into the hall.

“Richie?”

The man whipped around so fast it was a miracle he didn’t fall over or trip on his feet.

“Yeah?” He was grinning, but the rest of his face just appeared nervous—like he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. 

“Could you… I know this is going to sound like a fuckin’ invitation and it’s _not,”_ Eddie snapped, getting that grin to fall away as Richie came back to his room, “But can you...can you help me get my harness off? It’s—It’s just there’s...there’s all these little straps and I can’t reach them. Mark put it on too tight and I can’t fucking breathe.”

“Yeah! I mean, sure—of course. Sure.” He nodded then, his expression grave like he’d just volunteered to go clean up the nuclear waste of Chernobyl, all determination and commitment. By the time Eddie got his shirt off, Richie probably wished he had.

Compared to him, Chernobyl was an easy mess to clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the little blip of H/C this chapter is enough to tide you over for now! More soon! Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

“Did you get laid?” Beverly asked, setting her phone aside as Richie climbed back into the passenger seat.

“No, but I might go to jail tonight,” Richie said, taking off his glasses and dropping them into his lap so he could scrub at his eyes—as if that would get the images out of his head.

“What did you do?” Beverly asked, taking her hands away from the steering wheel and looking at him as if she thought he were actually the one at fault here.

“Nothing! That guy, Eddie, he… He was in one of the shows tonight, right? But his Dom—that guy at the apartments—he’s a fucking creep. He just _left_ Eddie there at the club. Like, just _left!_ Just left him there! I know you’re not into this shit so I’ll spare the details but, after a scene, some...some subs are kind of a mess, you know? They need someone to look out for them for a little bit until they’re back from cloud nine—or wherever they go. This dude just up and left him and...he had _no_ clothes, no friends or anyone to keep a lookout for him. When I found him, he was having an asthma attack! _No inhaler!_ Just crawling around on the floor freezing to death. I mean, fuck! He could have _actually_ died!”

He left out what he’d seen back in the hotel room. 

Eddie’s harness was on him so tightly that he had cuts in his skin from it and a long, bleeding strip down the center of his back where it had cut into him from being pressed into the table. He tried not to stare, but the marks were hard to look away from—cuts here, blisters there, burst welts in between bruises. 

He needed _aftercare._ He needed some ointment put on, some bandages maybe—before that, maybe even a nice soak in the tub with some epsom salts to clean everything up. 

All Eddie kept saying as he stared at all the cuts and wounds on his back was, “I’m going to get an infection. Fuck, I’m going to get sick… Oh, this is all going to get infected.” He needed someone to help him put some damned Neosporin on his back and instead he’d been left on the ground to die. 

Richie couldn’t wrap his head around it—and it didn’t seem like Eddie could either. He didn’t say much about anything and Richie knew better than to ask, but he seemed just as baffled—as well as hurt—by what had been done to him. 

Way to make a _human being,_ submissive or not, feel completely unimportant and worthless… 

The thought honestly kept Richie up most of the night. Any time he’d get comfortable, he’d start wondering how Eddie was going to sleep with all those open wounds on some gross, scratchy hotel sheets. Did he wrap himself in toilet paper like a mummy just to keep from getting blood and pus everywhere? Because his blisters had broken in several places and it _wasn’t_ pretty. 

Would he have nightmares? Would he have another asthma attack and his inhaler be out of juice? Okay, he was sure the guy who was a “gold star member” for the Hilton probably had enough resources to get together another inhaler if it came to that, but still… 

Richie tossed and turned and tossed some more in the spare bedroom of Beverly’s lavish apartment. It was a hell of a lot nicer here than some Hilton high-rise. Why hadn’t he invited Eddie—

Oh, yeah. Because the dude _wasn’t_ interested. Come on, Richie! What kind of creep comes onto a dude who basically just got beaten up?

Apparently Richie Tozier, because at six in the morning he was up pacing around Beverly’s place and then taking a shower, and then getting dressed in some of his honest to God best clothes. He dressed like he was going into the studio for something—like he actually belonged in a luxury Hilton hotel and hadn’t crawled in off the street. He was dressed and shaved and tidied up, and then slipping out of the apartment to walk around to the coffee shop and bakery a few blocks away. 

As it turned out, getting coffee for someone you didn’t know was a rather daunting task. It was hard enough when picking something out for a friend, but when it came to a complete stranger, it was damned near impossible. Latte? Americano? What if Eddie was one of those people who had to have a triple grande bone dry cappuccino with two and a half Splendas or it was going in the garbage? 

Luckily, there wasn’t much of a line at the coffee shop and Richie had the chance to word vomit his way through an explanation to the girl taking his order. 

“Why not try a tea?” The girl asked. “We’ve got a special Lavender Earl Grey in for spring. We can give you a little cup of creamer and a couple different kinds of sweeteners.”

“Really? That sounds—that actually sounds perfect!” Richie knew jack shit about Eddie besides a glimpse behind the curtain of his sex life, but the mental picture he had of this ultra-professional kinkster sipping tea in some fancy suit came to life behind his eyes. He had to blink hard a few times to banish the image from his head, worried he’d end up rocking a chubby with nowhere to hide it in his fucking business slacks. 

What the fuck was wrong with him? Honest to God… Dude just got beaten up and ditched, he didn’t need Richie acting like a perv around him.

After a long cab ride where Richie did little more than scold himself the entire drive, he found himself walking through the hotel with his head held high like he belonged there—somehow nervous he was about to be asked to leave, like the hotel was fucking Fort Knox or something.

He tried telling himself that there was a good chance Eddie would already be gone by the time he reached the man’s door. Check out wasn’t until ten, he remembered hearing the lady mention the night before, but Eddie was probably eager to get home and change or get some proper medical supplies to help keep his wounds from getting infected.

Richie’s heart was pounding in his chest as he worked up the courage to knock on the door. He fussed with his shirt and suit jacket, messing up the collar twice and then fixing it, then fiddling with the cups of coffee, cup of cream, and cup of assorted sweeteners. He was stalling and he knew it, but finally took a deep breath and reached out to rap his knuckles on the door softly. Way too softly for anyone awake or asleep to hear.

“Come on, Richie. Fuckin’ pussy,” he hissed at himself before rolling back his shoulders and knocking again, properly this time—or maybe too properly. It kinda sounded like a cop knock and he was not surprised at all by the annoyed shout he got in response.

“Check out’s at ten! I don’t need room service right now!” Eddie yelled, voice only slightly muffled by the wooden door. 

Richie stood there a moment, thinking maybe he should just walk away. Eddie sounded royally pissed off and had all the right to be. He wouldn’t want Richie bothering him, dredging up memories of the night before. Richie hadn’t been some knight in shining armor, just a decent human being. This wasn’t some stupid fairy tale and he wasn’t going to get to ride off into the sunset with Eddie.

Eddie who lived in _New York._

What the fuck was he even doing here in the hotel right now? 

Richie cringed at himself and knocked again, a little more appropriately this time.

“What the fuck did I just say!?” Eddie yelled. Suddenly there were footsteps pounding toward the door and Richie raised the tray of coffee and tea like a shield in front of him, cowering a bit behind it as the door swung inward. “Can I fuckin’ he—Oh… Oh, it’s you. Hey.” 

Slowly, Richie lowered the tray and opened his eyes—still hunched in on himself like he was expecting a blow.

“Hey, uh… Morning. I just, um… I thought you might like some coffee—or tea. I got you a tea. I didn’t know if you drink coffee.” Richie stared at him, knowing he probably looked every bit like a deer in headlights as he took in the sight before him. Eddie had gone to sleep in his sweater and athletic pants apparently. His hair was sticking up all over the place and his eyes were swollen with sleep, no longer bloodshot as they’d been the night before. Something about how he looked rubbing the sleep from his eyes had Richie’s stomach doing flips.

Something about seeing the guy’s face soften when he recognized it was Richie at his door and not pushy housekeeping was getting to him. 

“What kind of tea?” Eddie asked reaching out and taking the carrier from Richie’s hands before backing up further into his room. 

“Uh, Lavender Earl Grey. I didn’t know what you liked and the girl at the coffee shop talked me into it. That—That one’s just black coffee. In case you just wanted coffee,” Richie stammered as Eddie set the carrier down on the dresser and started twisting the cups free to read what was written on the sides.

“I can have either one?” Eddie asked, looking at him up and down, and then pausing at his face. 

“Yeah! Of course. I got cream in the one, uh, little cup and then the other is just full of sweeteners and stuff.”

“Oh, I can’t do dairy so that’s all yours. I’ll take the tea. Thanks.” He offered a small flash of a smile, just a little curl of the lips that lasted all of half a second, then set to taking the lid off the tea and prepping it with three Sugar in the Raw packets. 

Black tea, three Sugar in the Raw—wait. Why was Richie committing this to memory? Fuck!

He tried to play it cool while he prepped his coffee with the remaining white sugar packets and a good deal of cream. Eddie had opened one of the prepackaged sweetener, napkin, stir stick sets that was near the in-room coffee pot on the dresser and after stirring his tea, offered the stick to Richie who accepted and used it to stir his coffee.

“You clean up nice,” Eddie said, carrying his tea over to the window where he parted the curtains before sitting down on the bed. The sheets hardly even looked disturbed. If it weren’t for the comforter being pulled back a tiny bit, Richie would’ve thought Eddie had slept on top of the blankets. Now, he was wondering if the poor guy just passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

“Huh? Oh! Thanks, yeah. I, uh, knocked out some old dude in the elevator on my way up. Stole his suit so I’d look like I fit in.”

“Yeah? Did you hold a tailor at gunpoint in the next room to get it fitted?”

“You can tell it’s fitted?” Richie asked, face turning bright red as soon as Eddie laughed at his all-too-obvious excitement. His laugh, though a little rough and strained, was beautiful.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, taking a small sip of the tea and then sighing as he cradled the cup. He looked like one of the people in the old Folgers commercials, all cozied up with a little curl of steam rising around his face. He’d never put the lid back on his cup, Richie realized, and was slowly blowing on the surface of the tea before taking small, delicate sips. 

“Sorry to...you know, just pop up, but I wanted to make sure you were okay. Last night was weird and...and I know I’m fuckin’ weird so that didn’t help, but...I was worried.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie said, his tone shutting Richie down in an instant. He didn’t want to talk about last night, and Richie was happy to bury the subject if it meant he could still hang out in the dim, quiet hotel room. “Thanks for everything—the tea, too. Thank you. I didn’t expect that.”

“It’s no problem, man,” Richie said, sipping his coffee and trying to act natural while leaning against the wall by the window. He would look outside every now and then, just to keep from staring at Eddie—with his sleep-ruffled hair and dark stubble. “I’m glad you like it.”

“So did you get all dressed up to come here or were you on your way to work?” Eddie asked, taking another sip of his tea. Richie could smell the lavender from where he stood, and could already feel his brain stitching the scent together with his mental images of Eddie—black tea, three Sugar in the Raw. Damnit!

“Uh… Wait, what did you say? Sorry. Coffee hasn’t kicked in yet. What?”

Eddie laughed again, this breathy little chuckle that had Richie’s ears starting to burn hot. “I asked if you needed to get to work.”

“Oh! No… No, uh, I’m actually on vacation right now. Kind of...”

“So you _did_ beat up a guy for his suit,” Eddie asked, smiling a little more. There was something in his eyes that Richie was afraid he was about to fall head-first into. 

“Guil-tea as charged,” Richie said, his heart skipping a beat when the man rolled his eyes and took another sip of his drink.

“Yeah, you can leave,” he said before laughing again—the longest little chuckle yet.

“Aw, don’t make me tea-r up.”

“Don’t… Just don’t.” Eddie was smiling as he looked away toward the wall. His phone on the nightstand beside his collar and cuffs lit up with an incoming text, but he wasn’t facing it to see.

His partner, probably, wondering why he didn’t come home. 

Hopefully the dude was panicking. Hopefully he called every fucking hospital in the city trying to find him. Hopefully he didn’t sleep a fucking wink because he was too goddamned worried that something bad had happened to Eddie because he left him all alone in that vulnerable, helpless state.

“So… So are you tryna impress me with this or something?” Eddie asked, his humor suddenly gone as he fixed Richie with a calculated stare—the kind of look he might wear into a meeting where he was about to fire somebody. 

“With what? My tea-rrific puns?” Richie asked.

 _“This,”_ Eddie snapped, gesturing to Richie’s suit—gesturing to the cup of tea.

“Uh… Probably?” Richie said, his previously fluttering stomach now tying itself into knots. He didn’t expect it when Eddie laughed again.

“At least you’re fucking honest. What next, you come in for a kiss and try to get in my fucking pants? Tell me that’s how I can thank you for last night?”

“What? No! No, hell no!” Richie shook his head then took a quick sip of coffee. He was sleep deprived and not exactly firing on all cylinders, but he’d never meant to give off the creeper vibe. Part of the reason he’d worn his suit was so he’d look a little more…

A little more up to a business professional like Eddie’s standards.

“Then what do you want? I already told you last night you’re not getting my number. I _have_ a partner. I’m not _interested.”_

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Richie said, feeling the nerves creeping in again. Should’ve kept it up with the tea puns. Those had been killer.

Eddie stared at him a minute, taking small sips of his tea.

“Because last night, your partner was fuckin’ MIA, dude. He left you on the floor having an asthma attack. I was _worried_ about you,” Richie said, coming to his own defense a little. Just because he kinda sorta had a crush didn’t mean he’d only been nice in hopes of getting a reward. He was pushing forty, not fourteen. He would’ve helped Eddie just the same if he were some tweaked-out twink or a little old kinky granny. He might’ve skipped on coffee in the morning, but he could do more than just think with his dick.

Eddie was quiet a moment, looking down at the tea in his hands while running his tongue over his teeth beneath his lips. 

“Mark told me he was going to leave me at the club if I went into subspace again. It was my own fault—”

“That’s not fuckin’ true. Dude, that happens. It _happens._ His job is to be there for you when it does happen so—so what happened last night _doesn’t happen.”_

“That's not how it is, okay? You’re—you’re a noob. It shows. It really, really shows. What you know, you know from Google. Okay? You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I _do_ know what I’m talking about! Nowhere—and I mean literally fucking nowhere—is it acceptable for a Dom to just leave his sub in the middle of a bar with a bunch of strangers and no one to look out for him! It’s crazy! It’d be one thing if he even got you _dressed_ first. I mean—I saw your back, man. He didn’t clean you up at all.”

“It’s not his _job_ to clean me up. Yeah, some couples do that. Some are all about that shit. Not Mark. I’m self-sufficient. I’m an _adult._ I can dress my own wounds and get myself home.”

“Yeah. And you can also have an asthma attack in a dark corner of a bar and get found dead at closing time, too. A club isn’t your own house. That’s fine if you’re home and you’re _safe._ I mean… I mean who _knows_ what could’ve happened to you.”

“Nothing was going to happen,” Eddie said, looking more and more ashamed the longer he spoke. 

“It _wasn’t_ okay. You know what? You know what I think, honestly? Eds? I think he got pissed off because that other guy showed him up—yeah, I think you know it, too. That other guy showed him up and he got pissed off at you for it and he ditched you there to punish you for it like the little fucking cowardly bitch he is.”

Richie had struck a nerve and he could see it. Eddie’s eyes were huge and he was staring, slack-jawed, with his tea almost spilling from how loosely he was holding it in his hand. 

“You… You saw the demo,” Eddie said, suddenly blinking and looking away. He tried to clear his throat only to end up coughing and taking another drink of tea to get the itch out of his throat. “You watched me—you followed me?”

“I left as soon as Mark took back over. It made me sick watching what he did to you. Guy has no idea what he’s doing—”

“Mark’s been a Dom for eight years.”

“So? That doesn’t mean he’s a good one. He was jealous and it was obvious—but he’s your partner, so whatever. I’m just saying. It wasn’t cool… What he did wasn’t cool and that’s...that’s what I came here to say. So, I can go ahead and go.” He said this, but didn’t move from his spot by the window. 

Eddie was quiet again and kept drinking his tea before finally saying, “It _was_ obvious, wasn’t it? That the Master knew what he was doing and it showed him up. Fuckin’ showed him up...” Eddie shook his head and took another mouthful of tea, holding it between his teeth a long time before swallowing. “Fucking showed him up.”

Something, it seemed, had finally sunk in, and Richie was no longer the one on the receiving end of Eddie’s skepticism. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Eddie chalked it all up to him still being out of it from sub-drop, but he let the stranger sit in his room with him until it was time for check-out. Even though he’d vehemently stood against it, somehow he ended up putting the man’s number in his phone and texting him so they might continue to talk. 

It scared him a little, giving his phone number to some man he didn’t know—some man who had seen him practically naked (okay, basically completely naked)—that he met at a sex club, who had seen him getting everything short of fucked as part of a show. It was _dangerous_ talking to this guy. It was putting his safety, possibly even his _career_ at risk. Eddie knew absolutely nothing about this guy, and now the man could text him at ease—any time the mood struck.

Eddie didn’t know why he allowed himself to act so naive...

Something about Richie just...it got under Eddie’s skin. He couldn’t decide if it was in a good way or a bad way, but a few rounds of texting should clear that up. If he was a common perv, he’d be asking for pics before the week was out. If he was a decent person, which Eddie kind of hoped he was but seriously doubted, he’d stay respectful and maybe they could meet up for coffee again sometime as friends. 

They did share an awkward handshake-hug combo as they parted ways, getting into separate cabs. Eddie never did find out where Richie was going in that expensive suit on a Sunday. He didn’t strike Eddie as a minister or a church-goer, and he honestly hadn’t mentioned what he did for work. Eddie didn’t know of any corporate jobs that would need someone after ten in the morning on a Sunday—Saturday, maybe, but not Sunday. If he was in the legal system, Sunday was still an odd day, too.

He really hoped Richie hadn’t actually put it on just to impress him, but...if Eddie was being honest with himself, it kind of worked. Last night, he’d gotten the impression that Richie was just an average joe—probably lower class with a mild alcohol problem, if not something harder. He’d been wearing leather pants that looked like they came from a thrift shop and a plain black t-shirt at the club last night. Seeing him in an easily three-thousand dollar suit had Eddie’s head spinning. It had him feeling kind of guilty. 

To be honest, that suit had him feeling _some kind of way_ and that had him feeling guilty, too.

As cruel as last night had been, Eddie had a _partner._ He and Mark had been together three years, and though they really needed to have a discussion, Eddie didn’t have any right to be ogling someone else. 

Eddie made it home to his apartment and was quick to throw his new harness and cuffs right into the trash where they belonged. They had dried blood on them along with countless other fluids and no amount of washing would ever make them seem clean to him again. He also didn’t think the memory of last night could come out of the vegan leather, so almost two hundred dollars worth of fancy, vegan leather right in the garbage. Fantastic.

He still refused to answer the messages Mark kept sending him or answer his calls. He was still upset and he’d just start a fight, so he plugged his phone in on his kitchen counter before making his way back to his bedroom to begin the agonizing process of stripping off his clothes. His whole body ached as if he had the flu and his flesh was stinging wherever his clothes brushed against it. Both his athletic pants and sweater were stuck to his skin with dried blood _—infection, I’m going to get an infection_ —and Eddie’s eyes watered as he started to peel them off. 

His sit spots were completely obliterated, his skin having turned dark purple and red, black in the places near the open wounds. 

Mark _knew_ how he felt about open sores. Mark _knew that._

He had more cuts and burst welts on his shoulders and back from the bullwhip Mark had played with. Eddie hadn’t cared for that much, either. In the moment… Shit, he barely even remembered _being_ in the moment. It had gone from awful and scary to confusing and alright to...a haze. It was all just a blur of pleasure and fear and pain and guilt… 

He’d embarrassed Mark and that was why he’d been so rough. No matter what he did, Eddie just seemed to keep messing everything up for them. He wanted to be a part of the demos. He wanted to be a part of Mark’s life beyond just his partner at the end of the day. He’d do just about anything the other man asked and made sure that Mark always knew that and never felt the need to doubt him...so why the fuck did Mark _do this_ to him?

The last show, where Eddie really had made a fool of himself and Mark, had been maybe an eighth as intense as this one. Eddie couldn’t even remember a scene they’d had which had been this intense, even on their week long retreat to New Orleans with their private, sound-proofed quarters. What made him think Eddie could handle it? Or that it was _okay?_

Eddie had been in subspace—how the fuck was he supposed to use his safeword when he’d effectively gone into shock!?

He wasn’t supposed to have _let himself_ go into his headspace. That’s what Mark would remind him. He was a grown man. He was supposed to be in control of his faculties. 

Shame and guilt ripped apart his anger and Eddie was left in tears as he showered. He didn’t understand where it had all gone wrong. Mark was _never_ going to invite him out to a demo again—not that Eddie was exactly eager to participate in one again either—and that _hurt._

He wanted so badly to show Mark he _was_ cut out for this, that he _could be_ a good submissive despite his day job—despite all his issues and hang ups and flaws. Now, he knew he wasn’t. He wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t cut out for it...and he was afraid to look at his phone because—as pissed off as he was at Mark for ditching him—he didn’t want to hear Mark tell him he wasn’t good enough for him at all. D/s was a huge part of Mark’s life and if Eddie couldn’t provide that…

Eddie found himself on the floor of his shower under the scalding hot spray, body burning and yet somehow numb as he sobbed.

If Eddie couldn’t be a worthy submissive to Mark, then Eddie wouldn’t be anything to him at all. All those years, wasted. All that time and energy and _emotion,_ for nothing. He’d told Mark things about himself that he’d never told anyone… Shown parts of himself no one else ever got to see—that he didn’t _want_ anyone else to see. He _loved_ Mark.

He loved Mark, and last night he’d disappointed him so much that he’d left Eddie to die. It hadn’t been his intention, but he still had. Richie wasn’t wrong to have pointed that out. Surely another person at the bar would’ve found him and helped him—Eddie remembered so many people surrounding him at that point—but it didn’t hurt any less to know that Mark hadn’t been there. Mark hadn’t been the one to get him his inhaler. Mark hadn’t been the one to see him home. Mark left him as a mess for someone else to clean up…

Maybe that was part of the punishment, too. It definitely got his point across. 

Eddie stayed on the floor of his shower until the water started running cold. He had to force himself onto his feet and to wash off a second time, his crying coming on stronger as the soap burned his open wounds. He was going to get an _infection!_

After washing off, Eddie patted himself dry with the towel and did his best to apply antibiotic cream to his wounds, giving himself a nice panic attack when he couldn’t reach two on his back. He took his medications plus some Tylenol for the pain, then put on his loosest-fitting clothes before going back to his kitchen. 

He made himself eat before he checked his phone, knowing the discussion he and Mark would have was going to take away his appetite. Even so, he was only partially through his avocado tuna tappas when someone started knocking on his door. 

His stomach clenched painfully as he set down his fork and stepped away from the island in his kitchen where he’d been standing to eat. Eddie knew before he even peeked through the peephole that it was Mark. Somewhere deep down he’d hoped the man would have something in his hands. Flowers? They’d fuck with his allergies, but flowers were nice. Some of those vegan chocolate truffles Eddie really liked from the bakery, maybe. But, standing in the hall outside his unit was Mark, empty-handed and impatient, already knocking again before Eddie started undoing the chain lock.

“Jesus Christ, Eddie! Did you lose your phone last night? Where the fuck have you been?” Mark snapped, pushing his way inside before Eddie could even get a word in. 

“My phone died. I plugged it in to char—hey!” 

Mark had already barged past him and was in the kitchen, picking up his phone and flourishing it.

“Eighty-percent? Who the hell is this Richie guy? Who the hell are you talking to?” Mark asked, reading over the message previews on the screen. 

Eddie felt anger and dread start mixing in his guts, making him regret the few bites he’d had of his lunch. 

“The guy who got me home last night,” Eddie said, snatching his phone back from Mark and clearing all the notifications away. He made sure to darken the screen before setting it down, but that didn’t stop Mark from grabbing it and trying to see the messages. 

“You—You took some other guy home last night? Are you fucking kidding me, Eddie?”

“I didn’t _take him home,_ I said he _got me home._ Because in case you forgot, you _left me there!”_ Eddie crossed his arms over his chest, determined not to show how deeply he was hurt. Mark would just call him overly sensitive and use that as an example for why he wasn’t a worthy sub...a worthy _partner._

“And when was that? Because I waited for you a good hour and a half last night.”

Eddie found himself backed into a corner. If he told Mark he went to a hotel, he was going to assume he’d had an affair—as if sex would have even been possible with the condition Eddie was in last night.

“I’m waiting for an answer,” Mark said, putting his hands on his hips and heaving this great sigh like a disappointed father. Eddie hated it when he looked at him like that…

“I had an asthma attack last night,” Eddie snapped instead, watching Mark’s face—staring him right into his dark green eyes. He wanted to see compassion or sympathy or _regret._ He got none of it.

“What else is new?”

“I didn’t have my _inhaler!_ I was—I was still… I was still out of it, Mark! I… I didn’t have my inhaler.”

“I remember telling you last night that if you dropped in public again, I was leaving your ass there—”

“It wasn’t my fault though! You could’ve at least given me my clothes! I had an _asthma attack!”_ Eddie felt the tears well up again and his chest clenched as Mark’s only reaction was to roll his eyes. “Some random guy had to get me my inhaler, Mark! Some random person that I don’t know!”

“And what did we learn from that, Eddie?” Mark asked, still keeping that stance of a disappointed father.

“That you’re an asshole! That you don’t give a shit about me!” Eddie yelled.

“Oh, cool it on the hysterics! I’m your _Dom!_ I’m your _partner!_ I wouldn’t leave you there without someone to look after you. Alright? You weren’t in any danger.” He reached for Eddie who jerked away, arms still crossed over his chest. 

Eddie didn’t believe him. He didn’t believe that for a second. If someone had been there looking out for him, Richie wouldn’t have needed to drive him to a hotel. Richie wouldn’t have needed to bring him tea in the morning and kill his brain cells with tea-related puns for almost two hours. 

“If you were my _partner_ you wouldn’t have left me there. Helpless!” Eddie cried, feeling sicker by the second. 

Mark had started to pick his abandoned lunch apart, digging at it with the fork and grimacing as if it repulsed him. He’d never been a fan of Eddie’s cooking or his taste in food. Just another way he was a disappointment. Couldn’t cook, couldn’t take care of himself, wasn’t good in bed...or good _enough._

“You weren’t _helpless,”_ Mark said, dumping Eddie’s unfinished meal into his trash can and then tossing the dishes into the sink while Eddie gaped at him. “And you wouldn’t have been in that situation at all if you used a little self-control. Am I wrong?” 

“I was going to eat that!” 

“You need to watch the tone you’re taking with me right now,” Mark said, shaking his finger at Eddie.

“No! That was my lunch!”

“I’m taking you _out_ for lunch. You’d know that if you checked your phone instead of ignoring me—or talking to that other guy!”

“I’m not going out _anywhere!_ I’m going to have to work from home tomorrow! I can barely even walk.” Eddie pushed and pushed, wanting to see any semblance of sympathy in Mark’s face at all. It got him nowhere. Mark either told him he’d earned what had happened or that he should’ve used his safeword if he was concerned about going to work on Monday.

“I’m your Dom! It’s my job to teach you lessons! That’s what you wanted; that’s what _you_ agreed to!”

“I never agreed to let you trick me into playing with someone else! Or—Or _leaving me behind!_ Come on! Mark, I could’ve… I could’ve died. I… I didn’t have my inhaler.”

“I told you already you weren’t gonna die. I had friends looking out for you.”

“Where the fuck were they then!? Because the only person who helped me was Richie—and you obviously didn’t know him!”

“You need to watch your tone.”

“I’m not _playing_ right now!”

“You’re on thin ice,” Mark said, shaking his finger in Eddie’s face. Eddie slapped it away this time—which got him slapped across the face. Hard.

“Asshole!” 

Again, Mark’s hand connected with his cheek so hard Eddie felt it in his eye. 

“I told you to watch it. Now you’re going to make me have to teach you all over again—and I came here to make you feel better.” Mark’s expression never changed—never showed anger or rage, just that same disappointment. 

“I said I’m not _playing with you_ right now!” Eddie yelled, still holding his stinging cheek while trying to blink back tears. 

“Eddie, you need to learn your place here. I’m the Dom—you’re the slave.”

“I’m not a fucking slave! I told you that!” 

Another blow across the cheek and, this time, Eddie hit back. He slapped Mark as hard as he could, tears flowing from his eyes as he glared at his partner. 

_Partner..._

For a moment, Eddie thought he’d gotten his point across. Mark was staring at him and holding his cheek. Then his breathing started to pick up and the next thing Eddie knew he was being dragged by the front of his shirt toward his bedroom. The fabric dug into his wounds making him cry out as he struggled to twist free. Nothing he said seemed to get through to Mark who continued yanking him, muttering about punishments Eddie had earned himself—reciting them alongside the infractions he believed Eddie had committed like this was just the set up for another scene. 

Eddie struck him again, hitting him hard across the back of the head and then digging his short nails into Mark’s hand until he let go of his shirt.

“I’m not playing with you! You _hurt me!_ Do you understand!? You _hurt me!”_ Eddie screamed, shoving Mark any time he stepped closer. They were in the bedroom now, Mark between Eddie and the doorway out. 

“What about me!? What about what _you did_ to _me_ last night, Eddie? Do you know how dumb I looked up there? Showing off a sub who can’t even play for ten minutes without having a fucking panic attack!? It’s pathetic!” 

Eddie started to shout something back only to be slapped again. This wasn’t play, he thought. This wasn’t play at all. This was Mark… This was Mark hitting him because he didn’t like Eddie sticking up for himself. 

“Get out,” Eddie snapped, backing away from Mark. His unease grew stronger and stronger as Mark kept advancing toward him.

“Since when do you give the orders?”

“I said get out! Get out!” Eddie shouted, growing louder and louder as he shoved Mark back toward the door. When Mark tried to grab for his arms, Eddie slapped him—and when the man caught his wrist, Eddie kicked him in the leg. “I said get out! Get out of here! I’m not _playing_ with you!”

“You need to stop it! Stop it now!” Mark shouted, kneeling down to rub at his leg where Eddie had kicked him.

“Get out!” Eddie screamed again, hurt and anger seizing up his chest. He threw whatever was within reach—cologne off his dresser, a picture frame, his collar. He was sobbing by the time Mark finally left, shouting something awful Eddie wished he hadn’t heard. His whole body was shaking to the point he had to drop to his knees to keep from falling over, his arms wrapped protectively around his chest. 

Three years, _three years_ they’d been together.

Mark had all of Eddie’s secrets… All his hopes and dreams and private failures. 

The tears wouldn’t stop and all Eddie could do was curl against the foot of his bed and pull his comforter down over himself and wrap himself inside it as his door slammed and Mark was gone. His heart felt ripped to pieces. He hadn’t expected some big huge apology, but this… 

Eddie shuddered, all of his aches and pains coming back tenfold as he trembled on the hard floor. 

He knew Mark wasn’t much for aftercare and Eddie knew how to take care of himself, but… No offer to help him dress his wounds? The ones he couldn’t reach? No kiss hello even? No gentle fingers messing up his hair? No comfort at all… No _love_ at all. Three years!

Eddie felt as if he’d been shot in the heart.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richie to the rescue!
> 
> Also, sorry for any lingering typos. My early readers are so kind not to burn me into the next century for how many typos were in the last chapter before I got done re-revising it. I always reread my updates after they're posted (usually before bed because I'm weird) and seeing it on a different screen than my document helps me find typos I missed. Goodness were there a buttload last chapter. I am so sorry!

Richie rolled over on the couch when he heard his phone chime. He’d been taking a nap for the better part of the morning, catching up on all that sleep he’d lost over Eddie the night before. Beverly was in her office, swearing up a storm in between the quiet whir of her sewing machine—with explicit instructions for Richie to keep the TV down and not to bother her. His phone chimed a second time and Richie rolled over completely, stretching his arms over his head before reaching for the phone and pulling it in with a yawn.

Eds: _Sorry to bug you about it._

Richie sat up so quickly his glasses went askew on his face and almost knocked them off his face in his hurry to straighten them so he could see to unlock his phone. Damned bifocals. 

Eddie had sent him two messages.

Eds: _Just kicked Mark out of my apartment._  
Eds: _Sorry to bug you about it._

Richie typed as quickly as his fingers could manage, barely giving himself time to proofread before hitting send.

_You’re not bugging me! What happened? Are you OK?_

Richie stared at his phone, biting his lip while he waited for a reply. It came in so quickly that he scooted to the edge of the couch subconsciously, getting as close to his phone as he could.

His partner had come home and had been a real dick about the night before, blaming Eddie. He didn’t kiss him, didn’t hold him, didn’t offer to put ointment on his wounds… 

Eds: _He threw my lunch away too if you can believe it… Like… I WAS eating that!_

_He threw away your food??? You can’t afford to miss any meals!_

Eds: _He said he wanted to take me out to eat. The LAST thing I want right now is to go sit somewhere in public..._

Richie stared at the message, chewing his lip to the point he was surprised he didn’t taste blood. He was pushing it, he knew he was pushing it, but it felt like something else had possessed him as he typed out:

_I could bring you something. A man’s gotta eat!_

Then, when two minutes passed without an answer and Richie was positive he’d just driven his new acquaintance away, he tacked on:

_I’ll leave it outside on the steps. But you might want to hurry or the homeless people will come take it. Can’t have people think I do charity!_

A few minutes later (Richie could practically see the man staring at his phone, contemplating whether or not to answer), Eddie replied.

Eds: _LOL. Trust me. You don’t want to do that._

_Charity or food? Bc I definitely would not mind getting you food._  
_As long as I can throw it away before you’re done._  
_Apparently that’s what good Doms do. Gotta start somewhere!_

Eds: _Very funny. I have food but thanks._

_No! Don’t eat out of the trash!!!_

Eds: _Do you have any idea how many bacteria are in the average trash bag? All the food borne illnesses from tablescraps!?_

_My point exactly! Let me buy you lunch. <3 I’ll leave it on the steps._

Richie’s heart was pounding so hard he thought he might be about to have a heart attack. 

Eds: _You don’t want to buy me food._

_Why?_

It took five minutes for him to get an answer and Richie thought for sure he had pressed his luck.

Eds: _I can’t have gluten. I’m lactose intolerant. I’m allergic to nuts and soy._

Richie did a quick web search of restaurants nearby, feeling disappointment in himself well up as he failed to find anything that fit with those restrictions. He wouldn’t give up though. There had to be something Eddie could have besides plain, gross salad. He’d survived a good thirty-three plus-ish years (how old was he? Oh, hell, it didn’t matter) on _something._

_Well as long as you still eat meat._

Eds: _Clearly. Did you not watch the show?_

Richie’s heart picked up even more, a wicked grin spreading across his face. Fuck it. He was in love.

_Is that a yes to me buying you lunch?_

Eds: _Fine… But promise you’re not going to fuck with me. I really will die if I have nuts or soy. Dairy and gluten make my guts will explode._

_0/10 worst fireworks display ever. Jk jk. Let me find a place and then you can tell me what you want. K?_

Eds: _OK._  
Eds: _If you can bring some Neosporin too that’d be great..._

Richie texted him a thumbs up emoji, then bolted from the couch to go knock on the door to Bev’s office—opening it before she could even answer which earned him an exasperated huff and wide, annoyed eyes.

“What, Richie? What?”

“Eddie,” he said, staring at her with a nervous grin. She looked like she was about to grab one of her sewing needles and use it on his mouth.

“What about him?” She asked, her voice possessing the same inflection his mother’s did whenever he’d stretched a joke too thin and she was about to throw something at his head.

“He’s letting me buy him lunch.”

“So why are you in my studio?”

“I need help.”

“You need lots of help, Sweetie. But that doesn’t explain why you’re in my studio when I asked you to leave me alone.” She was smiling, but the kind of smile that came just before a killing spree. Richie realized her sewing machine was jammed and the pointer finger of her right hand was bleeding.

“Uh… He has allergies? And...and I don’t know what to get him. And you live here...and I don’t. Uh, any restaurants that you can, you know, think of? That are good for lactose intolerant, nut allergy, soy allergy people? Who think they can’t have gluten but totally can?”

Beverly let out a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes. 

“The sooner you tell me, the sooner I—”

“First off, you won’t get anywhere assuming he doesn’t have Celiac Disease. Second, why don’t you just ask him where he wants food from?”

“I don’t know… He’s stressed out. Come on. The sooner you help me, the sooner I can leave and you have your apartment back to yourself.” That seemed to do the trick because Beverly nodded her head and took her phone out from under a wad of fabric.

They scrolled through restaurants together before Beverly found a hippies’ paradise sort of place. Meaty options, vegan options, veggie options, gluten-free and allergy conscious right on the front page. Richie texted the link to the website to Eddie and chewed his lip while he waited for the man’s reply.

About fifteen minutes later, Eddie replied with the wrap he wanted and the drooling emoji. 

“Okay,” Richie said, turning to Beverly who looked eager for him to leave her office. “But now what do I wear?”

Her smile dropped and she fixed him with a stern gaze—not quite a glare but also not quite _not_ a glare, too—and began tapping her fingers on her sewing machine.

“You know what, I think I got it,” Richie said, grinning at her as he backed out of the room. “I think—I think I’ll just wear some nice jeans and my white Hawaiian. What do you think?”

“I think that’s perfect,” she said, her voice not quite friendly. “It’ll bring out your eyes.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile and then sucked her finger into her mouth, clearing it of the blood like a vampire as she leaned over her sewing machine again. 

Richie left her to it.

( ) ( ) ( )

Eddie would admit that he was spiraling. One bad feeling had opened the door for a hundred more and he was shaking and hyperventilating in between puffs of his inhaler. 

Mark had called him and, like a fool, Eddie had answered only to be beaten down and belittled even more until he hung up the call. Mark had no more sympathy for him now—away from the situation and having had time to think—than he had in the moment he’d come to Eddie’s apartment. He blamed Eddie for going into his headspace, for “earning _that_ punishment” (which was how he referred to leaving Eddie naked save for his harness and underwear at the club all alone) and he blamed Eddie’s heartbreak on sub-drop. 

“I have feelings, too!” Eddie had cried to him. “I have feelings outside our sex life, Mark! This has nothing to do with _that!”_

Only Mark disagreed and called Eddie hysterical and overly-emotional and a train wreck. 

“The whole world’s not going to coddle you like your fucking mother! Get that through your head!” Mark had screamed. 

Eddie’s heart was completely shattered and he was so afraid to be alone, so afraid of what awful thought might fly through his head, that he invited some _stranger_ to come sit with him and watch him fall apart. Because that was all that was going to happen. 

He didn’t even know why he agreed to let the man bring him food. He wasn’t _hungry._ He didn’t feel like he’d ever be hungry again. His body ached all over and he wondered if he’d caught the flu from crawling around on that dirty sex club floor. 

What a fool he was… 

What an idiot. He knew he couldn’t take care of himself, so why had he agreed to go? He knew he was too weak on his own. He was too weak to be a submissive—and now a whole club of people knew that, too. Twice over, because he hadn’t learned from his mistakes the first time. 

Oh, God! What if someone at work found out? He was going to have to leave the city—he was going to have to flee the _country!_ What in the world had he been thinking?

There came a soft tapping at his front door and Eddie felt even more shame and dread wash over him. He looked like a fucking mess, all covered in tears and snot in a little nest of blankets and tissues on his bedroom floor. The knocking came again, followed by the vibrating of Eddie’s phone on the bed. He grabbed for it, trying to get composed enough to answer at the same time that he tried to work up the courage to just hang up and go it alone. 

This guy was of the same stock as Mark. Whatever he wanted, it was nothing good—no matter how nice he seemed upfront. Mark had been that way too once, Eddie reminded himself. Acting all patient and gentle as he eased Eddie into the rougher stuff only to leave him high and dry. 

“I’ll be right there,” Eddie said, his eyes squeezed shut as he held his phone to his ear.

“Okay. Awesome. Uh, no rush. Um… Take your time. I know you’re probably sore as shit—oh! I got the Neosporin like you asked. I got some other things for you, too.” 

Eddie’s interest was piqued at that, but he was still uneasy and shaky as he slowly got to his feet and made his way to the door. He looked through the peephole to make sure Richie was alone, then ended the call while Richie was still going on about the line at the restaurant or something before opening the door. As soon as Richie laid eyes on him, his smile was gone. 

“Whoa… Hey, is everything alright?”

“It’s fucking perfect. Can’t you tell?” Eddie asked, looking at the drink holder Richie had in his hands. “What’s that?”

“Oh! I got us blackberry lemonades. No sugar added...or...something. I don’t remember what the sign said. The lady said it was seasonal. I… I panicked.”

Eddie let Richie into the apartment and locked up the door behind him, moving sluggish and slow to the kitchen while Richie followed him—looking anxious and helpless while rustling the paper bags in his hands. 

“I really hope I didn’t fuck this up. You look like Hell. I’mma feel real bad if they messed up your food.” 

“It’s fine. If it kills me, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Uh… I go to jail for murder by nuts? And not even the fun kind.” 

Eddie let out a little wheeze of a laugh, all he could muster and mostly from how absurd the man was. 

“Both of these are the same, so take your pick. Promise I didn’t poison ‘em.” Richie was trying to smile for him but looked so uncomfortable at the same time. Eddie imagined he must look pretty bad for the man to be grimacing at him like that. “And, uh, I got two things of Neosporin, some bandages, some gauze...some peroxide, cotton balls. I held up a drug store. Like I said. I panicked.” 

Eddie looked from the blackberry lemonade he’d set on his counter to the white paper bag. He didn’t know which he wanted more—his privacy and this drink, or to go back in his room and start the painful process of showering off again and putting more antibiotic cream on along with bandages and having this stranger help with the burst welts he couldn’t reach. 

“Hey, listen… I know you probably want left alone. I’ll head out if you want. I really did just want to make sure you got something to eat and got any supplies you need. Promise I’m not trying to get in your pants or come onto you or anything. That’d be a real dick move right about now.”

“You don’t have to go,” Eddie said, taking a drink from his lemonade. It was sweet as hell, so much for no sugar added, but somehow exactly what he needed. Carbs, he reminded himself. He needed to get enough carbs or he’d crash even worse. 

“You sure?” Richie asked, holding onto his wrap and lemonade while Eddie got out plates. 

“Yeah. Let’s just eat or whatever…”

“Right here?” Richie asked when Eddie started to unfold his wrap onto the plate he’d set on the island bar in his kitchen. Eddie only needed to pass him one glance and Riche’s face was turning red. “Shit, duh. Not like you want to sit down right now. Sorry.”

Eddie didn’t dignify it with a response, just set to taking small bites of his wrap in between sips of lemonade. He _really_ liked this lemonade. 

“Where do you work?” Eddie asked after Richie had finished most of his wrap without speaking at all. It looked like it hurt him not to talk—and it looked like he was afraid he’d say the wrong thing any time he appeared as if he were about to speak before giving up and going back to being quiet.

“Oh… Everywhere, kind of. I’m… I’m a performer.”

“What, like in a freak show?” Eddie asked, meaning it as an insult though the other man took it as a joke and started to smile.

“Kinda! Yeah, I’m… I’m a comedian. I’m actually just in New York to take a break and try to get some inspiration for some new content. I write for the Nightly Show. Out in LA?”

“And that’s why you were at the club? To find some sad person to make a joke of?” Eddie asked, his stomach feeling sick. He looked away from Richie as the man’s face fell, focusing instead on rewrapping his food in the paper it had come in and carrying it to his fridge. 

“I… I was at the club because no one in New York knows me. I wasn’t there to—I’m not _here_ to find a way to make fun of you. I’m into that stuff—not this, though! Not what happened to you—fuck! I’m making this worse. Goddamnit.” Richie ran his hands through his hair, clearly not realizing he had sauce on his fingers that was now mixed with his black curls. Eddie would’ve told him if it weren’t so fun to laugh at in his head. “I went to the club because I was bored—because I wanted to go out and maybe meet somebody. I wasn’t there to get material. I don’t have any intention of making fun of you.”

Eddie was still cautious, but refocused on his lemonade. His mind didn’t race when Richie was here and the man, though awkward and weird as hell, didn’t seem so much like a threat the longer he was around.

After a while, they moved into the living room where Eddie laid down across the couch and Richie sat nervously in the recliner. Eddie could’ve made it less awkward by turning on the TV, but he was exhausted and didn’t want to move to get the remote—or speak to tell Richie to do it for him. 

“So, uh, what do you do for work?” Richie asked, picking at a thread in the knee of his jeans. 

“I work for an insurance firm,” Eddie said, not giving more details than that. 

“Okay… Cool. You work with a lot of numbers and stuff?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never been that great with numbers. I was always good at English and stuff. I loved studying film. I did that in college for a bit. Music’s my real passion though. Turns out I’m a shitty fucking singer though.”

“I’d believe it,” Eddie said, his eyes slipping closed as he listened to Richie talk. He was so, so exhausted. He hardly got any sleep last night between the agonizing pain, the worry about bed bugs and dirty sheets and infections, and nightmares. 

He must’ve dozed off for a while because when he came to, his apartment was dark and the blanket that had been folded over the back of the recliner had been draped over him. There was also a glass of water on the coffee table in front of him along with his bottle of Tylenol and cell phone. Eddie thought for sure Richie had left, his heart rate picking up as he scanned the dark living room. Richie couldn’t lock up behind him and Mark could—

Eddie heard the toilet flush in his bathroom, then the sink clip on. Out of habit, he counted the seconds for how long the faucet ran, pleased that it was more than thirty seconds. Okay, Richie, you passed the first test, Eddie thought to himself. You could be a slob who didn’t realize he had sauce in his hair, but you couldn’t go around with unwashed hands. 

“Oh, hey! Hey, you’re up. Sorry, I know I _totally_ overstayed my welcome. It is ten o’clock. But your door...only locks from inside? So I couldn’t like, leave and keep it locked. Mine’s got the little twisty one and the deadbolt.” While Richie rambled about locks and doors, Eddie worked up the courage to move.

It hurt like hell to sit up and Eddie couldn’t help the strained whimper that came from his lips as he reached for the water and pills. 

“You could’ve woken me up.”

“Are you kidding? You looked like death when I got here. You needed all the sleep you could get.” 

“Well… Well, thanks. You… You didn’t have to do that. Thank you,” Eddie said after he swallowed three of the pills. His body hurt _badly._ If it didn’t stop in the next couple of days, Eddie was worried he’d need the ER. He was terrified that he had an infection. Maybe one that had already reached his blood steam.

He was going to die from this and Mark wouldn’t _care._

“I know you’re probably still tired. I can get out of your hair. I just didn’t want to leave you here with the door unlocked. Any psycho could come in and kill you.”

Richie was standing nervously a few paces back from the couch, wringing his hands and occasionally wiping them on his white and blue Hawaiian shirt. It made sense now that Eddie knew he was from LA. A West Coast kind of person _would_ wear a shirt like that. 

“Richie?” Eddie asked, feeling lightheaded from how much pain he was in. Every muscle and joint in his body felt weak as he started to stand from the couch.

“Yeah? You okay?” Richie asked, moving forward a little bit as if to catch him.

Eddie felt it the moment he stood up that he was sick. He had a fever and he was dizzy, his vision even getting bleary the more he tried to move. Right away, his brain started churning out lists—things he needed to do. He had to text his boss and say he was ill and would try to work from home, but might not be able to. He needed to set up a doctor’s appointment. He needed… He needed to take another shower and then use the antibiotic cream Richie brought to treat his open sores.

He needed…

“I need help,” Eddie panted, feeling the shame wash over him as he confessed it. He _couldn’t_ take care of himself. He _was_ pathetic. He _was_ all the things Mark had called him… He should be able to care for himself. He was forty years old! He should be able to bathe and put himself to bed without asking for help from some stranger!

“Sure—Sure, buddy. Just tell me what to do. What can I do?” Richie came to him then, putting a gentle arm around his shoulders—somehow missing the welts on his back as he did. He’d stooped down to pick up Eddie’s glass of water and handed it to him, encouraging him to drink until it was most of the way gone.

“I need… I need to shower and…” Eddie swallowed hard, his eyes squeezing shut as he forced the rest out. “Can you help me put the Neosporin on? I-I just can’t reach some spots. I feel really sick and I think one of them’s infected. I don’t know which one. I can’t see them and—and… It’s _really bad.”_

“Okay. Okay, yeah. Yeah, I’ll help! Come on. I’ll help keep your balance but you’ve gotta shower on your own, okay? I can’t catch a cab soaking wet and if you saw me in my shorts you’d laugh me into an early grave. Do you think you can stand?” 

They were slowly moving toward Eddie’s bedroom and he had all of four seconds to remember the mess of blankets and tissues he’d left behind. Richie moved them out of the way without mentioning them, keeping a hand on Eddie to keep him stable as he did. 

“Do you think maybe a bath would be better? Some Epsom salts or something?”

“Shower,” Eddie repeated, putting a hand on Richie’s chest and pushing him back a step once they’d reached the bathroom. “I’m… I’m gonna shower.”

“Okay. I’m going to wait right here and not come in until I hear a thud.” Richie smiled at him, but his eyes looked worried—anxious. 

That was how Mark should’ve looked when he came over. Eddie probably wouldn’t even be sick now if Mark had just done what he was supposed to…

Or even offered to _try._

( ) ( ) ( )

Richie really did wait with his ear pressed to the door to listen for a thud. Eddie looked sick as hell. He hadn’t noticed it in the darkness of the living room, but once the bedroom light clipped on, all Richie could think about was the fact that Eddie’s skin was gray anywhere it wasn’t burning red with fever. He needed a hospital. 

That fucker put his “partner” in need of a fucking _hospital._

Richie didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. He couldn’t stay and he knew that, but he was worried Eddie might get sicker or weaker and just…

He could _die._ Why wasn’t that enough to make Mark sick to his stomach? Eddie could _die._ Richie knew literally fucking nothing about this dude, but he knew he didn’t want him dead—that he didn’t want him found dead, rotten in his apartment after some wound on his back turned gangrenous or he got a fucking blood infection. 

When the shower turned off, Richie busied himself in the bedroom, not needing to strain so hard to hear without the water running. He made the bed and put the tissues he found in the trashcan—and used a pump from the bottle of hand sanitizer on Eddie’s dresser. He heard Eddie start brushing his teeth and took the chance to slip back into kitchen to retrieve his bag of supplies and another glass of water for Eddie. When he came back, Eddie was on his way out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. He looked better and that, at least, was a relief. 

“You made my bed?” Eddie asked, voice rough like he’d started coming down with a sore throat.

“Yeah, I was… I—I don’t know.” Richie was at a loss. He wanted to make jokes but then he’d looked at Eddie’s face and lost his humor. 

Eddie still seemed out of it as he moved toward the bed, looking at the supplies Richie had laid out—touching and turning each and every one before he slowly laid himself down.

Yeah… His back was fucking infected.

“Is it bad? I couldn’t see it in the mirror,” Eddie said, breathing deeply—heavily—and looking like he might start to cry. If he cried, Richie was definitely going to cry. 

“It looks pretty rough. I’m not going to lie. But we’re going to get it better and this will never, _ever_ happen again. Okay?” Richie didn’t know if his words were reassuring or dumb. Eddie’s big eyes were unfocused, staring off at what appeared to be his bedside lamp though it was doubtful he saw any of it. He had his arms crossed under his head and occasionally nuzzled against his forearm while Richie started unpackaging the boxes.

What Richie knew about dressing wounds came from Google and his childhood experiences of skinning his knees and fixing up cuts and scrapes from his bike—and bullies. A lot of those. None of that prepared him for the daunting task of fixing up all the burst welts on Eddie’s back or the irritation he had along his spine from his harness. He soaked cotton ball after cotton ball in hydrogen peroxide, trying to be gentle as he dabbed it against the worst wounds first. The liquid fizzed up like crazy and Eddie hissed in pain the more times it was applied. 

It took six tries with the cotton ball and then one splash of the stuff right to his skin for the bubbling to stop. His mom always told him that was how you knew it was clean. He hoped that was right. Otherwise he’d made Eddie cry for nothing—because he was crying now as Richie dabbed the area dry with a bit of gauze wrapping before applying the antibiotic ointment. 

He had to do this seven more times before all the wounds on his back were treated—he’d even added a little more healing goop to the first one in hopes it might help somehow. 

Eddie was still quietly crying and seeming out of it, his big eyes closing and opening again slowly as if he were fighting sleep.

“I brought bandages and stuff, but if you can sleep on your stomach, I think it’d help to let them breathe a bit.”

Eddie nodded then turned his eyes to meet Richie’s gaze for the first time since he’d started treating him.

“Can I ask something stupid?”

“Only if I can say something stupid back,” Richie answered, trying to force a smile. He felt like he had knives in his heart and it made it hard to feel anything but pain for this other man.

“Why are you doing this for me?” His voice was so weak, but Richie could still hear the honest confusion in it—the wonder. Like he didn’t know how Richie could waste hours of his day on him.

“Because it’s the right thing to do? Because that asshole wasn’t going to do it for you… Because I want to be your friend.”

“Friend?” Eddie asked, sounding like he wanted to scoff. And, yeah, okay, maybe he had a right to scoff at that. Richie left off the part where he’d thought ‘this sub is fucking hot’ before the night went to shit. Yeah, Eddie was cute as hell, but that wasn’t what kept him coming back. Well, not completely. He wasn’t about to make a move on a guy who’d just gotten the shit kicked out of him by his long time partner. 

“I told you. I live in LA,” Richie said, focusing his attention back on the bottles and bandage. That was the reality of it, he told himself. He could get as attached to Eddie as he wanted, but at the end of the day, he still had to go home. He had a job there—and not the kind he could pick up and move with him to the city to pursue some guy who wasn’t in a position to date anyone. “I’m not exactly here for a one night stand. You have to know that by now, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie whispered, nuzzling his forearm again. “Richie?”

“Yes?” Richie’s heart beat a little harder. It could be his ears playing tricks on him, but Eddie’s voice sounded almost concerned. Like he was about to ask something heavy.

And then Eddie let out a great sigh and squeezed his eyes shut.

“You can say no...”

“Okay, but first you gotta ask me?” Richie said. Would he ask him to stay the night? He would—he probably ought to. Just so he could apply more cream and stuff in the morning before Eddie had to go to work.

“It’s… It’s fucking awkward.”

“Well, I’m the master of fucking awkward. Or awkward fucking—you can ask some of my exes.”

Eddie sighed again, annoyed by the joke. Annoyed was good though. Annoyed was better than crying.

“Can you… It’s just, I’m so _tired..._ Could you...maybe...” He sighed then, his face getting hidden in his arms. “The...the other cuts or whatever… Could you? Maybe...” 

“Other cuts?” Richie asked, brow furrowing a moment as he looked over Eddie’s back, looking for one he’d missed on his way down to the white towel covering his—

Oh. He’d taken a hell of a beating up front, and then a second one that Richie hadn’t stuck around to see.

“Never mind. It’s—”

“I probably should. You were sitting on that floor and those underwear didn’t cover much in the back—sorry to say. I’ll have you right as rain in jiffy, Spaghetti Man.”

“Spaghetti? The fuck are _you_ on about?” Eddie asked, lifting his head. It was the most animated he’d sounded since he’d woken up on the couch and it gave Richie just enough reassurance to shake off his nerves and talk down the rude butterflies in his stomach.

“Yeah. Eddie Spaghetti. You’re laying here like a limp noodle. Here—drink some water.”

“I don’t think more water fixes overcooked pasta,” Eddie mumbled, but he took the water regardless and drank most of it down.

For what it was worth, the skin of his ass—or what was left of it after Mark _tortured_ him—was definitely the cause of the infection. Richie felt sick to his stomach just to see it and had a hell of a time trying to play it off and not scare Eddie any more than he already was.

“I know it’s bad,” he kept whimpering—in tears again from the sting of the peroxide. “I know it’s really bad...”

“It’s gonna be fine, Eds. You just needed some TLC.”

“Don’t call me Eds—stop giving me pet names.”

“Well, you can’t say we’re not close. I’ve got my hands all over your ass.”

Eddie groaned pitifully in response to that, clearly mortified by the position he was in. He had to feel so exposed, so vulnerable. It should’ve been Mark doing this. It should’ve been his partner who he knew and trusted, not Richie. Not a stranger… If Richie were in his shoes, he didn’t know if he’d even have the courage to ask for the help at all.

No, Richie knew for sure he would’ve just crawled off and died somewhere, or waited until it was so bad the hospital probably couldn’t even help him before going in. 

By the end of it, one of the tubes of antibiotic cream was completely empty and Eddie was fading in and out of sleep. He still had a fever, so Richie busied himself with getting him more water and a cold cloth for the back of his neck. He also got Eddie his phone so he could text his boss, telling him he was sick and couldn’t work in the morning, but would make sure his reports didn’t get turned in late. Richie kind of read over his shoulder a little bit while refreshing his wet cloth. 

“Richie?” Eddie mumbled, still on top of the blankets while Richie set to covering his wounds for him—after putting more cream on some just to be safe. Moisture, Eddie finally corrected him, made wounds heal. People aren’t plants, he said. They don’t typically mold. 

“Hm?” Richie was focused on applying sticky bandages in ways that wouldn’t cause any adhesive to touch one of his other welts. 

“Will you stay? Not—not in my bed, just...here? It’s so late. ‘S not safe to be out so late.” He sounded half asleep and so far gone, but nervous still—like he knew he shouldn’t be asking it and had taken the last bit of his courage to say it at all.

“Of course,” Richie answered, smiling a little. That was for the best. It was perfect, actually, and not just because he wanted to soak up as much of this man’s attention as he could get. The guy was so sick and so badly in need of someone’s care. 

Once the bandages were on, Eddie forced himself to stand up—still a little shaky on his feet—and pull on some pajama pants while Richie made sure not to peep at him and focused instead on cleaning up all the supplies. Eddie pulled on a thin t-shirt as well, then crawled into his bed and laid on his side—holding still while Richie put the wet cloth back on his neck. 

“There’s spare sheets and stuff in the closet next to my office. The couch is comfortable but the recliner’s better. It’s got lumbar support.”

“Ooh, lumbar support. My favorite,” Richie teased, having nothing better to come up with. 

He fussed with getting everything in order next to Eddie’s bed on his nightstand—the Tylenol, two big glasses of water because he needed to hydrate, his phone (away from the water) and a bowl of ice and a little bit of water that would melt through the night in case his cloth needed refreshed. That way Eddie wouldn’t have to get up to care for himself.

He really liked to insist that he could take care of himself and it was adorable—in a sad kind of way—to Richie that he really, obviously couldn’t. At least not tonight.

“I’ll be in the living room if you need anything. Get some sleep.” Richie felt oddly like a parent as he turned off the light for Eddie and shut the door for him. He texted Beverly explaining what happened then did the less than honorable thing and poked around Eddie’s kitchen in search of food. He was hungry to the point of feeling sick but didn’t want to complain to Eddie and get kicked out. 

There were protein bars on the counter along with an unopened pack of beef jerky. In the fridge there were a shit ton of veggies and raw meat, some avocados, too. Nothing really readily accessible except the veggies and an orange Richie found in the back of the fridge that was kind of squishy.

Orange and cucumber dinner… Dinner of champions. It got his stomach to stop gurgling at least and he was able to find the spare blankets and get nestled down in the recliner he’d sat in all afternoon. Thank heavens for Eddie’s phone charger left on the kitchen counter. He’d needed it after scrolling the web for healing remedy articles and domestic violence articles and other stupid unrelated shit for hours on end while Eddie dozed off on the couch.

Hopefully he got some good sleep tonight. He deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and leaving me such great comments! They really cheered me up this weekend and helped me to feel a little more connected to planet Earth while trying to process the things which happened. I'm wishing you all well and hope you're doing okay! Stay safe! More will be up soon :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do we need more H/C? Idk, but we're about to get plenty of it!

Richie woke up earlier than Eddie the following morning—no real surprise there. The chair with its lumbar support was not nearly as glamorous as the pillow-top mattress of Beverly’s guest bed, and he wasn’t sleeping off a fever, either. After using the bathroom, Richie went to Eddie’s bedroom and listened at the door before slowly pushing the door open and peeking inside. 

Eddie was fast asleep, still breathing and laying on his stomach. He was also hugging on the pillow beneath his head and for some reason the sight of it made Richie’s chest clench and he was fast to shut the door again. 

Not at all satiated on the feast of orange and cucumber, Richie spent a good hour deciding on what to DoorDash to Eddie’s apartment for breakfast. He wanted to get something for Eddie, too, but it was a real struggle to find a place he could trust. In the end, he settled on an omelet with a side of hashbrowns for Eddie, with the special notes reading: ****ALLERGY!!! PLZ NO DAIRY/NUTS/SOY/GLUTEN! ALLERGY!!*****

If Eddie still got sick from it, he’d take the restaurant to court. (For his own meal, he put “No Allergies. I’m a human garbage disposal” in an attempt to look more reasonable.)

Afraid that the television might disrupt Eddie’s sleep, Richie scrolled through his phone while laying on the couch, occasionally checking his app to see where their food was. A bit sooner than he expected, there was a soft knock at the door Richie bolted up, not wanting the person outside to get the idea to knock again—and louder. To be safe though, Richie glanced through the peephole, checking to see if it were Mark instead of his food. He’d only seen the guy in the poor lighting of the club basement, but he remembered dark hair and the guy outside had light, sandy brown. Whoever it was was looking away down the hall when Richie first glanced out the peephole, but turned around and raised his hand to knock again after a moment. 

Richie was quick to make sure the chain lock was still in place, then cracked open the door just enough to see out. This guy had no bags of food, so he wasn’t DoorDash, but he wasn’t Mark either. He was a hell of a lot better looking than Mark, too, not that Richie was about to spout off saying so. 

“Can I help you?” Richie asked. The man looked taken aback and checked the number on the door again before he started to speak.

“Uh… I’m here to see Eddie? He didn’t come in today… Who are you?” The man’s surprise was quickly being overcome with what looked an awful lot like suspicion and anger.

“I’m a friend,” Richie said, matching the man’s suspicious energy. He didn’t know if this person was a friend of Eddie’s or of Mark’s or just a concerned coworker—but if it was the latter, why did he see fit to bother Eddie at home when Richie had seen him send the text message to his boss to call off? “Who are you exactly?” 

The man huffed at him, then looked down the hall while shaking his head.

“You a friend of Mark’s?” The man asked, turning back to him. That negative vibe Richie was getting from the guy was coming even stronger now.

“I’m a friend of Eddie’s.”

“Where is he?” The man asked, moving forward to see past Richie into the apartment. 

“What’s it to you?” Richie asked. He wouldn’t go so far to say he’d put his life on the line for Eddie’s at the moment, but he wasn’t going to just step aside and let this stranger in. For all he knew, it was a friend of Mark’s come to beat Eddie up some more or try to get in his head and convince him to take the asshole back.

“Alright, man. I’m going to give you one chance to tell me where he is or what you did to him, or I’m kicking this door in and I’m gonna find out.” He didn’t sound threatening or violent, Richie realized. If anything, he just sounded determined—like he thought _Richie_ was the threat.

“He’s still asleep. What do you want with him?” 

“Listen, man, I’m not playing around here. I _know_ what Mark gets up to, okay? I hear all about it. So if you or that asshole put hands on Eddie, I’m going to—”

“That’s—That’s why I’m _here!_ Because of that asshole. And until I know you’re not about to kick the door in and go finish the job, I’m not getting out of your way. I don’t _know_ you. When Eddie gets up—oh, hey. My DoorDash.” 

The timid woman who had appeared behind the man looked ready to drop her bags and run. Then the man turned to her and must’ve offered some dumb movie star smile with his gorgeous face because she grinned back and made pleasantries with him before handing him the bag and scurrying way. The man stared at the receipt stapled to the bag, then looked at Richie. He almost looked calmer now as he held out the bag which wasn’t about to fit through the gap between the door and frame. 

“I’m not opening the door for that,” Richie said, shaking his head defiantly. 

“Well, I’m not going anywhere because if you’re ordering him breakfast, that means he’s still here. And I’m not leaving ‘til I see him.” 

“Then it’s going to be your fault when his food goes bad and he has nothing to eat,” Richie said.

“It’s Eddie,” the man answered, face screwing up in confusion. “He has half the produce aisle on hand at any given moment.”

Richie had to say, in having looked at Eddie’s fridge, the guy had a point.

“How do you know him again?” Richie asked.

“We work together—well, in the same building. We get coffee every morning and ride the elevator together. He gets off on ten and I’m on eighteen. It’s kind of our thing.” He spoke it so casually, like he didn’t think a morning ritual of waiting to get coffee just to ride in the elevator with someone was unusual. They weren’t even _coworkers._ Ah, fuck. If this guy wasn't friends with Mark, he was definitely next in line for Eddie's heart. Richie had nothing on a body like a champion athlete and the face of a movie star. “So this morning when he wasn’t at work, I tried calling his desk phone and he didn’t answer—so I called his phone and the same thing. I haven’t heard from him all weekend so I thought I should stop by and make sure he was okay.”

“Well, if he didn’t answer your texts, maybe he doesn’t want to talk to you.” Wishful thinking, but you couldn't blame Richie for trying. 

“Or maybe you and Mark left him tied up somewhere and he can’t. Open the door.” He went from cordial to hostile in an instant.

“I don’t _know_ you. I’m not letting you in here.” Richie realized probably a moment too late that it was the wrong thing to say. A moment later the man was pounding his fist into the already open door, making a horrible racket that probably had the neighbors peeking out, and had started shouting Eddie’s name. The man still had their food held hostage, gripping it tightly as he did his best to pound the door off its hinges—or wake up Eddie.

Which he did.

“What the hell is happening!?” Eddie called, stumbling out into view. He was rubbing at his eyes and horribly unsteady on his feet. Richie left his spot at the door to hurry to him, helping to keep Eddie upright. “Who’s here?”

“I don’t know. Some guy who says he works in your building,” Richie said, trying to talk over the man who was shouting again.

Eddie’s skin was still that awful gray color wherever it wasn’t flushed red with fever. He looked like a fucking corpse and Richie had a feeling that man was going to kick the door in the second he saw him.

“Ben?” Eddie said, shaking his head a little as if confused—or dizzy. 

“Eddie!?” The man called, trying to look in through the gap in the door.

A moment later, Eddie was at the door and pushing it closed so he could undo the chain lock.

“What the hell happened, man? You look like a fucking zombie!” The man, Ben, stared at him, still holding the bag of food which Eddie peered down at.

“It’s bad,” Eddie answered, sounding woozy. It had to have taken all of his energy just to get up and come to the door. 

“I need to take you to a hospital—right now,” Ben said, looking more anxious as Eddie shook his head.

“I really think you should listen to him,” Richie said, looking to Eddie. “You look bad, man.”

“Well… Well, I can do the… I can do the nurse line. They’ll call me in antibiotics and it’ll be fine.” He looked to Richie as he said this, his expression somehow pleading. Richie could understand his embarrassment about going and explaining what happened, but waiting on hold for six years to talk to some RN wasn’t going to help. 

“Did… Did something happen?” Ben asked, trying to put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder only to have Eddie flinch away. Ben must’ve felt the bandages under Eddie’s shirt because the look of alarm on his face came back with full intensity. “Did—Did he hurt you? Eddie, you promised me if—”

“I’m fine, Ben. I’m in good hands.” Eddie was staring at the bag of food again, his breaths coming heavier and heavier. He looked ready to pass out and it took both Richie’s support and Ben’s to get Eddie over to the couch to lay down. “This is Richie, by the way,” he tacked on, gesturing to Richie who waved—feeling awkward and uncomfortable now that Ben was in the apartment, too. “Mark and I had a fight and he’s been checking in on me.”

“By fight do you mean fistfight? You look like _shit.”_

Richie slipped out of the room at that point, leaving Eddie to answer that question on his own, however he saw fit. He busied himself with getting Eddie’s water and the Tylenol from his nightstand as well as his cell phone. When he got back to the living room, Eddie was staring at the receipt which had been stapled to the bag with their food in it, smiling a hazy little grin as he looked at it. 

“That was him,” Ben said softly, gesturing to Richie. Eddie glanced at him, then lowered the receipt and made a grabby gesture for the water glass. He had a few sips, then swallowed down a couple of pills before drinking the rest that was in the glass. 

“Did you want to try to eat a little or should I put it in the fridge? You didn’t have any dinner last night,” Richie said. It reassured him a little when Eddie nodded. The man needed to keep his strength up and get nutrients in his system if he was going to fight this infection. 

After he’d eaten a little less than half of his omelet and zero of the hashbrowns, Eddie sent Ben to retrieve his medications from his medicine cabinet—claiming Ben would know which ones to get when Richie offered to do it instead. Ben was absolutely next in line for boyfriend material, and Richie had to remind himself that that was a good thing. Ben seemed nice. Ben didn't live all the fucking way in Los Angeles. 

“So he’s a friend?” Richie asked while Ben was out of the room. “Not someone we need to worry about?”

“Probably my best friend,” Eddie answered. “I should’ve answered when he called but I didn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know about the club...or any of that stuff.”

Richie thought to correct him, because it sounded an awful lot like Ben knew _all_ about “that stuff” when he’d been accusing Richie and Mark of leaving Eddie tied up somewhere, but chose to hold his tongue. If Eddie thought his secret was safe, now wasn’t the time to ruin his fantasy. When Ben came back into the room, Richie was still keeping quiet.

Eddie took about three different medications, then asked Ben to leave as soon as he’d knocked them back. Richie thought the man would put up more of a fight, but he looked at Richie, then back at Eddie, and heaved a deep sigh.

“Will you call me this time if you need me?” Ben asked.

“Yes.” It was almost the irritated tone of a teenager.

“And can you let me know when you’ve talked to the nurse line? I’m coming back here tomorrow and if you haven’t seen anyone—”

“Ben, I have an _infected cut._ I’m talking to the nurse line and I’m getting antibiotics. Do you think I want to...want to walk around with _my health_ and not get seen!?” His voice faded in and out like a drunk, still delirious from his fever. 

“Just let me know what they say, alright? You let it go too far this time, bud.”

In response to his concern, he got an annoyed, groggy _humph._ Once he was gone, though, Eddie seemed to relax—if you could call melting into the couch looking helpless “relaxed.”

He asked Richie to get his laptop for him from his office, then struggled to find a way to balance it on the arm of the couch so it was level and he could type on it without risk of it falling off onto the floor since he was in too much pain to sit up. Richie tried not to eavesdrop as Eddie signed in to whatever nurse line web consult thingy he had, not sure if he should leave or wait around. Eddie probably needed someone to go get his prescription for him. He would wait until Eddie kicked him out, he decided. At least that way he wouldn’t have to worry about the man just dying here all alone. 

Still, he felt awkward just standing in the kitchen texting Beverly while listening to Eddie speak with the RN who answered his call. He made up some bullshit, seamless story about slipping and falling on broken glass while out hiking over the weekend. He couldn’t show her the injury because he had it covered up, but it was "all red and swollen" and "might have red lines" moving away from it and he “read online” that that could be bad. He described the rest of his symptoms without lying, though he might’ve downplayed how feverish he was (though the nurse could probably tell), but it was obvious to Richie that he’d done this before—that he’d lied to cover up his injuries more often than he’d probably ever admit.

Despite all that, his story worked and the RN let him know that she had called in a prescription for antibiotics and some hospital-grade ointment for his “cut” to the pharmacy they had for him on file. There was also a stern lecture about going to the urgent care immediately if his conditions worsened.

“Do you want me to go and get that for you?” Richie offered, perking up as Eddie’s laptop closed. 

The man lifted his head and stared at him, eyes big and startled like he’d forgotten Richie was there. 

“I could do that so you can stay here. I can go home and shower and stuff while they’re getting it ready and pick it up for you.”

“That would be nice,” Eddie mumbled, his head lowering again against the arm of the couch. 

“How are you feeling?” Richie asked, coming to sit on the floor by the end of the couch near Eddie’s head. The man stared right through him, looking sad and tired. 

“Worse than yesterday,” he said, voice low and rough.

“I still think you should’ve gone to the hospital.”

“We’ll try this and...and if they don’t help in a couple of days, I will. I just… I don’t want to tell more people than I have to.”

“I can get that,” Richie said. He’d lifted a hand and started stroking one of the damp curls on the back of Eddie’s neck. For a moment, once he’d caught himself doing it, he worried that he’d crossed a line—that he was being too intimate—but Eddie seemed to sigh into it the more Richie touched him. 

He looked so tired and weak. It scared Richie to death when he had to leave him on his own.

( ) ( ) ( )

Eddie couldn’t believe he let it all go this far. Mark had called him at least a dozen times already and it wasn’t even ten o’clock. Ben had come by… Richie, a stranger, was still lingering around caring for him because he was too weak to do it himself.

What a fool he was… What an idiot. He should’ve known better than to go with Mark to the club and try to perform in his stupid show. He knew he couldn’t handle it. He knew he couldn’t take care of himself… He just wanted to _be there._ To be worthy of Mark. 

Eddie had loved him and trusted him with so much...and where did it lead? 

His mother’s nagging voice raged at him in his head, telling him he was going to die—telling him he’d caught every disease on the planet from crawling around on that filthy floor. He felt that voice was right, because at no time in his life had he ever felt this raw and exhausted. 

He knew that as soon as Richie came back with the antibiotics, he was going to need the man’s help again. Eddie needed to peel off the bandages and shower and then let Richie redress his wounds—if he’d stick around long enough to do it. 

God, he hoped Richie would stick around to help. He didn’t want to have _Ben_ see him like this, and he knew no matter how hard he tried that he wouldn’t be able to treat all his wounds himself. There were too many in too many hard places to reach. And he needed Richie to look at them, examine them, and make sure they weren’t getting necrotic—or full of puss or gangrene or _oh fuck!_ Please, no!

Eddie’s imagination tortured him with articles he’d read and stats and photographs. Infections and lepers and amputated limbs. 

Why did Mark let this happen to him!? Why did none of his text messages say “sorry” or “are you okay?” or “I love you”? All Eddie got were “why aren’t you talking to me” and “I bet you’re with that other guy” and “I told you what would happen” texts. Texts that blamed him. Texts that made him out to be dramatic and irresponsible. And maybe he was—maybe it was reckless of him to agree to do the demonstration. He’d just wanted to be with his partner so Mark wasn’t doing all that with _someone else._

Any time he moved, Eddie felt like he was going to fall over. When he drank the water Richie gave him, his stomach felt sick. His head and throat and muscles _screamed_ at him. If he closed his eyes too long, he saw flashes of that night in the bar—waking nightmares that had him shivering. Or maybe that was just because he was freezing cold with only a throw blanket within reach that didn’t cover his shoulders and feet at the same time when he had to lay across the couch instead of curled up on his side like he liked to do some days after work. 

Tea, he thought. He’d really like a cup of tea… Like the floral, spicy one Richie had brought him at the hotel when he’d still been half alive, before the infection spread.

What if he had sepsis? He’d played up his injuries to get the attention of the nurse he’d spoken with, then downplayed his symptoms as best he could so she would still prescribe him the drugs without simply referring him to an urgent care and washing her hands of him. Now he was terrified that he’d put the final nail in his coffin.

He had blood poisoning, Eddie decided. That’s all there was to it, and he was going to die. 

And Mark wasn’t going to care. 

But he really would find the last of the strength in his body and _kill_ for a cup of hot tea. That would be just the thing to warm him up. Green tea or a nice herbal mix might even help to cure him. 

It felt like hours had passed before Richie was back and gently knocking on his door. Eddie slowly got to his feet and wobbled over to the door, falling against it as he unlocked it and shuffling the slightest bit backwards to open it just enough to let Richie in.

“God, you look bad,” Richie said. Eddie’s eyes were shut so he couldn’t really see his expression, but he was sure it was something worried. Richie always looked so worried… It was nice.

“That’s not how you come on to someone,” Eddie said, allowing himself to be guided back to his bedroom.

“You're sick, so I'm going to leave that one alone. But you walked into that one.” Eddie really had no idea what Richie was on about at all. “Okay, so I got all your stuff and I got some ibuprofen, too. The pharmacist said it’d be best to help get your fever down. Okay? So after your shower, I need you take all these and then you can have your tea.”

“You bought me tea!?” Eddie’s eyes finally opened again, burning against the sunlight in his bedroom.

“You called me? Asked for tea?” Richie said, voice gentle and laced with concern. “You said green and herbal, but Google said herbal is better for healing. So I got you this,” he flourished a paper cup with a plastic drink stopper in it, “for now and a box of some herbal tea for later. This one’s some hippie turmeric, green tea, lemon-ginger something. No sweetener—”

“I have a good insulated mug! Put it in my mug or it’ll get cold. I’m so cold.” All Eddie wanted was to take the paper cup into his hands and hug it. He wouldn’t even care if it burst on him and gave him third degree burns—at least he’d be warm for the moment. 

“Okay,” Richie said, chuckling a little as he got Eddie to take off his shirt so he could start removing his bandages. “You know, it looks _better._ It really does. I’m not just saying that.”

“Really?” Eddie asked, trying to turn his neck to see only to become woozy. He didn’t see why he couldn’t have his tea now.

“Yeah! It’s not all red and angry anymore. Just pink and a little swollen.” 

While Richie cleared away the first mess of bandages for his back, Eddie reached for the paper cup of tea and removed the stopper in order to smell it. Almost immediately, it soothed him. The spice of ginger and a touch of lemon citrus. It was still steaming and a touch too hot to sip, but he was happy just to cradle it—until Richie took it away.

“I really, really don’t want you to drop this on yourself. I’ll go put it in the cup and keep it hot, okay? You just work on laying down and...getting ready for the worst part.”

Worst part? Eddie thought to himself as he watched Richie take his tea away. Oh… 

He sighed as he lowered his pajama pants and laid himself down on the bed before Richie came back so he wouldn’t see his junk—not that he hadn’t already seen it, but it was different now. It felt different in his own home—without the thrill of strangers watching or the anonymous feel of the club. None of those people were ever supposed to see him this close...close enough to touch.

Richie returned and set the insulated cup down on his nightstand next to the pharmacy bag. Eddie stared at it, longing so badly for just one little sip before his shower—before subjecting himself to the agonizing jet of water on all his open wounds.

At least the water would be warm, though.

The bandages coming off his upper thighs were literal torture. Eddie didn’t know if he believed Richie or not when he said the burst welts across the globes of his ass were “looking better.” They didn’t _feel_ better. 

“This one’s still pretty bad, but the others are looking okay. They really are, Eds. I think just a little of that hospital-grade goop on here and you’ll be better by this time tomorrow.” He probably pointed somewhere, but Eddie was glad Richie didn’t poke his wound to indicate where he meant. 

Showering was pure, dizzying horror. Eddie thought he would fall over at least a dozen times, and his wounds screamed in pain as he dabbed all of them he could reach with a soapy cloth. The mess of broken skin on the left side of his bottom was the worst, so painful to the touch that Eddie almost cried just from ghosting the cloth over it. He knew it had to be done—he knew he needed to scrub the dirt and grime off of it, but it hurt _so much._ He was never, ever, ever letting anyone near him with a belt or a whip or a paddle again. Not _ever!_

The warmth of his shower was gone as soon as he parted the curtain and stepped out. He was left a shivering mess, wanting little more than to curl up on the tile and bury himself in all the bath towels in the cabinet. The only thing that kept him moving, that convinced him to dry off and go back to his bedroom to have his wounds cleaned and redressed, was the promise of that delicious-smelling tea that awaited him. Eddie had no memory of calling Richie to ask for it—to the extent he wondered if they’d formed some strange, psychic link from their shared ordeal the other night—but he was thankful he did.

He accepted the antibiotics and excessive amount of ibuprofen he was given, drank the glass of water he was offered, and even finished the heated up breakfast omelet he’d picked at earlier in the morning. He assumed food was better for absorption of most pills, and Richie gave him a bit of a No Nonsense look when he thought about refusing. He didn’t want to be a disappointment to Richie as well as Mark and Ben… It was better to just do what he wanted so he could have his tea. 

He had to lay with his chest propped up on all his pillows in order to be able to hold the cup and drink from it normally. He didn’t have the strength to prop himself up on his elbows, and would’ve lost it regardless as Richie dabbed antibiotic cream on his wounds. No stinging astringent this time, he thought with some relief. 

“Is the tea good?” Richie asked him while bandaging up his back.

Eddie gave him an affirmative hum and took another sip. 

“I noticed, uh, you’ve got a whole produce department in your fridge.”

Eddie hummed again, then imagined he was probably being rude and forced himself to talk. It was the least he could do, really, with Richie literally saving his life on the bed beside him. “Smoothies. I usually do smoothies for breakfast.”

“Yeah? What kind?” 

“Any kind,” Eddie said, a bit taken aback by the question. “Just… Just anything. You throw it together and—and it’s good most the time. Green with green, red with red, yellow and yellow. Match the colors and it’s probably tasty.”

“Not kale this and spinach that?” Richie asked, making a gagging noise that had Eddie rolling his eyes.

“Not all the time. If you put in just a little, you can’t even taste it.” Mark always insisted he still could, but he seemed to find great pleasure in making Eddie doubt whatever he said. Eddie thought a restaurant was great, well, here’s Mark with fifty reasons why it sucks. Richie would probably do the same. It was a Dom thing.

“I had an ex who told me that and it was still nasty,” just like Eddie thought, “but I bet if you made it, it’d be good. I think you’ve got this health food thing down.”

Eddie felt his chest clench and took a quick sip of tea to hide how flustered the words made him. Still, after all this trouble, Richie liked him? He didn’t say it like it came from pity either.

“If you’re here in the morning, I can make you one,” Eddie said, only realizing it was still morning now as he spoke—or just after noon. 

It was almost two o’clock. 

“I might take you up on that, but...listen, I’ll stay if you want me to, but I can also go and come back in the morning if you want some time to yourself. It’s up to you. I’m just bugging Beverly anyway. She seemed happy to have me out of the house—not gonna lie. Rumor has it, I’m annoying as shit.”

“I believe it,” Eddie said, trying to make his tone more playful but failing—and hiding his failure behind little sips of warm tea. 

“Either way is fine, but I’d like to stay and change your bandages again before I go. At least this one, anyway. It’s the one I’m most worried about.” He meant Eddie’s ass, but he was polite for not saying so. 

Once Eddie’s wounds were dressed, Richie left the room so Eddie could put on clothes and come to meet him in the living room. Richie was filling the electric kettle Eddie had with water, and then reading the instructions on the box of tea he’d bought while it boiled.

More tea, Eddie thought happily. He liked that. His was almost completely gone.

He laid himself down across the couch and turned on the television and scrolled through his phone while the weather played quietly in the background. Without even needing to ask, his empty cup was taken away, rinsed, and refilled with the new tea—which he wasn’t allowed to have until he drank more water. 

Fine. Eddie drank the small glass of water, then grabbed for the insulated cup until Richie gave it to him with this dorky, crooked smile that made Eddie’s chest clench. 

He checked his email, noting his boss’s acknowledgment of the doctor’s note he didn’t remember getting or forwarding from the nurses’ line. Eddie had typed a very, very incoherent email that somehow strengthened his case that he was too sick to work and his boss replied back with a simple:

“Please get better soon. You are the strongest analyst in the department and I need you in good health for the board meeting next month. Take all the time you need and work from home until you are at 100%. If you can, try to call in to our meeting on Wednesday. I have pulled what you had of the open reports and redistributed them. REST.”

It made him nervous to have his workflow taken completely away, but it soothed him in some ways, too. There was always more work to be done. He wouldn’t be out of a job, and if he was, well—Roger said it himself. He’d be out his strongest analyst. Eddie probably screwed himself on the promotion he was gunning for, but he’d heard rumors that would require a relocation and he didn’t particularly want to leave the city. 

Well, he hadn’t… Mark was here. But that was just old ghosts now.

All those memories, just...wasted time. Wasted effort. He couldn’t even call it a learning experience. He’d never seen this awful thing coming to know how to spot the warning signs twice. 

“So you said you work with insurance, but what do you do for fun? Besides dress sexy and hit the town?” 

Eddie scoffed at that, being yanked out of his thoughts and refocusing on his reply to his boss—checking extra hard this time for typos.

“I like to go running. When the smog isn’t too bad… I like hiking. Bike trails. I like to travel and stuff...domestically. I don’t...I don’t trust the water overseas.”

“Probably a good thing,” Richie answered. “Have you ever been to LA?”

“Twice. Business both times. Had an interview out there before I got my job here in New York. Once for some conference. Didn’t really get to enjoy it. Hotel was nice. Never even got to see the beach.” His eyes were closed again and he was seeing that sleek hotel room with its balcony and desert view. He saw his clothes laid out, struggling between two different ties—not sure which to wear on day two of the conference. “The blue one.”

“Blue one? Yeah… Most oceans are blue. You feeling okay over there?”

Eddie’s eyes snapped open and he grabbed for his tea and took a slow drink. His back and thighs were pulsating with pain. He shouldn’t be able to fall asleep so easily.

“Don’t drop it on yourself, okay?”

“I’m not a little kid,” Eddie said, not liking Richie’s tone but not entirely hating it either. The man cared… Eddie couldn’t understand why, but he did and it showed. Eddie liked it.

“I know, but you’re falling asleep over there with hundred degree liquids. I don’t want to rush you to the hospital with burns and try to explain that that’s all you’re there for.”

He had a point. Eddie told himself to be more careful, but found himself fading in and out with the cup of tea on the arm of his couch, still in his hand. And then it was gone, set aside on the coffee table by Richie who had gotten up to refill Eddie’s glass of water—and get one for himself. 

When Eddie came around again, his head was feeling the slightest bit cleared. He was given more water and more ibuprofen and the leftovers from the wrap he’d hardly touched the day before. He didn’t want it at first, but after a couple of bites it really did hit the spot—and so did a fresh cup of warm tea. The Travel channel was on and Eddie watched it as he ate, whenever he wasn’t watching Richie in the recliner next to him to check his reactions to the pictures on the screen. 

Was he bored? Did he look like he wanted to go home? Like he wanted to sleep? Like he was waiting for an in to make a move or an out to get going?

Really, he just looked fascinated by Monaco. He even leaned forward a bit in his seat as they panned over images of food and showed locals cooking in seaside restaurants. Mark would’ve turned such a program off in an instant. There was no competition or yelling or remodeling going on so it was “boring.” 

It was foolish, but it gave Eddie comfort. Even Ben didn’t like the Travel channel unless it was an architecture or extreme homes sort of show. 

“Will you stay?” Eddie asked, forgetting not to stare at the man when he turned to look at him, seeming startled that he’d spoken.

“What was that? Sorry, someone had steak.”

It took more courage to ask it the second time, but somehow Eddie managed. “Tonight. Will you stay?”

Richie smiled at him, that dorky, crooked grin. “Only if you make me one of those smoothies in the morning.”

“Only if you promise to drink the whole thing.”

“Okay… Well, then, I’ll drink as much of mine as you do of yours. How’s that? You need to keep your strength up.” That parental, caring tone Eddie both loved and hated made a comeback. 

He nodded his head and then lowered it to the throw pillow again. Eddie wasn’t so exhausted now. He felt better, not sure if it was the antibiotics already or the ibuprofen or just the tea, but part of him—deep down—knew it had something to do with the fact that he could rest assured someone would be there when he woke up the next time. No door left unlocked after Mark decided he was fed up with cuddling and needed to get back to his “own domain.” No cold bed… Well, it would be, just...not an unexpectedly cold and empty king-sized bed. Richie was _not_ slipping under his covers tonight! No, sir!

But he could have the chair again, or the couch if he wanted. 

Or the bed, if he promised not to touch. Eddie wouldn’t offer it, but if he happened to fall asleep there after helping redress Eddie’s wounds before bedtime, well, Eddie wouldn’t complain. It’d be nice not to wake up feeling alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your support and for reading! More soon! (Did you see my wimpy attempt at foreshadowing there? It's pretty obvious, isn't it.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did this make it through four revisions and I never notice there was a typo in literally the FIRST sentence? You guys are too kind to me. Holy moley.

Richie was honestly...pretty sure he and Eddie were dating—not that he was going to make an ass of himself and push to slap on that label. Especially not when he knew, despite his best efforts to forget, that he lived in _fucking Los Angeles_ and the man of his dreams was here and comfortably established in New York.

Since the morning he brought Eddie tea in the hotel, a day had not passed that Richie wasn’t in his apartment. And, since the day Eddie got his antibiotics, there hadn’t been a night he didn’t sleep over...in Eddie’s own bed. He felt as if he’d taken advantage that following morning, even though nothing had gone down between them. Even though he really just laid there trying not to be disruptive or make any noise, he felt like he should’ve gotten up and crept out to the couch as soon as Eddie was asleep. It was all too clear he was still trapped in the haze of his fever when he asked. His words even had a slur to them. 

Richie woke him when it was time to take his next course of antibiotics and a round of pain meds, but otherwise kept his hands to himself so Eddie wouldn’t wake up more lucid and get the wrong idea.

He honestly spent that whole first night terrified Eddie would wake up and accuse him of all sorts of things, or be embarrassed and kick him out in an attempt to save face.

Instead, he woke up and asked for help with his bandages. He was a lot better that morning after just two doses medication. He showered, let Richie dress his wounds again, then laid in bed and did some work on his laptop while Richie just sort of hung out at his side. 

Eddie made them their smoothies after answering about two hundred emails, and although Richie could _definitely_ still taste the kale in it, he pretended he didn’t and took pride in how happy that little white lie made Eddie. 

“It’s like I thought,” Richie had said. “It does taste a lot better when the chef knows what he’s doing.”

And that got Eddie to go on this proud little tangent about how he didn’t like any of the local smoothie places because all the drinks had too much of this or too little of that. He was proud of his ability to make his own smoothies at home save “a ton of money” in the process. Richie was glad to listen to him boast, happy honestly just to see him more alert. Richie finished his smoothie before Eddie was even halfway done with his (another little gesture that had Eddie practically glowing with something besides fever for once) and had done so every morning since. 

He’d been crashing at Eddie’s place, going home usually right after smoothies and morning chatter and coming back around dinner—always with food he got from out, always something new that had Eddie excited because he never snuck ingredients he couldn’t have into his diet. Apparently Mark liked to claim things were xyz allergen free, and had sent Eddie into Anaphylaxis once by letting him take a bite out of some Asian-style actually Gluten-Free wrap. The whole thing was chock full of peanuts, and he’d seemed genuinely surprised when Eddie got sick.

Richie was pretty sure his gluten intolerance was all in his head, but he’d never _risk it._ So he always made sure to show off how all his allergies and restrictions were printed on the receipts or marked on the boxes—and though Eddie started looking at him like he was a moron after the second time, Richie never lost his enthusiasm. 

The second night, Richie was surprised when Eddie asked if he wanted to stay again—then even more shocked when Eddie asked where he was going when he went to leave the bedroom after changing his bandages. Eddie looked at him like he was stupid when he stammered out, “What? Really?” but once the initial surprise wore off, Richie was stoked. They didn’t cuddle or anything, but sometimes at night Eddie’s foot would touch his—and sometimes Richie was positive the other man was awake and doing it on purpose. 

After that, it became common practice. Wake up, get Eddie’s bandages off so he could shower, redress him, eat a smoothie and listen to Eddie talk about how good he was at his boring job, go back to Beverly, gush at her about everything and shower, pick out some food, go back to Eddie.

Every day he got stronger and stronger, the gray color leaving his skin—the angry, weeping injuries on his back and thighs turning pink and healthy. Eddie still couldn’t sit but it didn’t seem far off. 

Mark called him dozens upon dozens of times and had tried to come over once, but camping out outside Eddie’s door didn’t work if he was already home and pretending to be elsewhere. Eddie looked upset whenever Mark’s name flashed on the screen of his phone and it hurt that Richie couldn’t do anything to help him with it. He was proud to see Eddie stand his ground though. The man had spoken a little bit more about what he’d gone through with Mark, “slip ups” in the past that had upset him or left him bleeding (Mark knew he did not like to have open wounds and that drawing blood was supposed to end any scene they were engaged in—though it seldom did), but he never went too far into detail. Eddie seemed to be a man who really valued his privacy, and Richie felt a little bit guilty for bypassing a lot of the walls he’d put up around himself by simply being the one to find him that night on the floor.

And thank God he had, too. They both seemed to be in agreement that Eddie could very realistically have died with no one to take care of him. And if Eddie hadn’t kicked Mark out that following day, it was likely he would have gotten sicker even faster. Another beating on top of his already ruined skin would have probably killed him on the spot—though Richie would like to entertain the hope that the man would’ve seen how badly hurt Eddie was and change his mind about forcing him into a scene.

Mark, Richie had come to find out, was Eddie’s first real partner, too. His first “Dom,” and his first lover. He’d had boyfriends in college, and girlfriends, but never anything intimate until he met Mark. He was nice in the beginning, Eddie insisted. Always courteous and helpful and willing to listen to Eddie vent when he had a rough day at the office. He had been a good partner, Eddie insisted, up until a year or so after they’d eased into the “rougher stuff,” as Eddie liked to call it. 

He wanted a slave, not a sub. That was Eddie’s opinion, and Richie agreed that a slave who was probably used to being mistreated and didn’t stick up for himself was what Mark truly desired. A partner he could beat and take his frustrations out on without getting in trouble. 

Richie didn’t know why he’d thought Eddie would be perfect for that role when Eddie had already shown, even sick as hell, that he had his own opinions and would act on them. Richie honestly didn’t have much in terms of fantasies playing out in his head surrounding Eddie and what he might be like as a submissive, but it was all too clear right off the rip that he wasn’t exactly someone who would ever want to play the part of a slave—even with all the negotiating that should go into it and probably never would with Mark. 

Given the opportunity, Mark would probably leap at the chance to conduct some hellish Red Room session on the Dark Web and kill the submissive trapped with him. He was exactly the kind of person that gave the entire community of BDSM a bad name. Someone needed to get Eddie out into the actual world, Richie thought to himself, and show him what it was actually supposed to look like to be in that sort of relationship.

He was the one meant to have all the power, not his Dom. Not Mark. He said when to stop, he said what he needed—it was the Dom’s responsibility to follow those orders just as much as it was Eddie’s to play along within the agreed upon terms. You couldn’t ignore a partner’s limits just because they were the sub and you fancied yourself their master. 

Either way, it was Mark’s loss—really. So long as Eddie stood his ground and kept him at arm’s length. He needed some time to rediscover his independence and Richie could appreciate that, but he was also pretty sure it was helping Eddie, too, that he was here to make the whole process a lot less difficult.

As it was, he and Eddie had just finished their dinner and were together on the couch. Not quite cuddling but not quite not either. It was Richie’s decision to scoot over to the couch after spending the last few days sitting the recliner and it gave him a small boost of confidence when Eddie said nothing as Richie moved his legs to sit down and then drape them over his lap.

Eddie felt well enough to lay on his side now which meant he would watch television without straining his neck. They watched the Travel channel a whole lot, but it was kind of interesting depending which show was playing. He didn’t care much himself for the shows that just had all the pretty, sweeping views of expensive hotels and resorts and cities, but when the hosts actually explored and ate and visited locals, then it got kind of cool. Richie really like the shows with a focus on food.

Sometimes they did watch the Food Network at Richie’s suggestion, but he realized after a while that Eddie would get this disappointed look on his face when they showed a particularly tasty-looking dish that had too many things in it that he couldn’t eat, or that would taste horrible with all his required substitutions. Richie made sure if they watched Food Network, it was for competition shows that Eddie perked up for. They both got a kick out of _Cutthroat Kitchen_ so Richie considered that a win. He liked Eddie’s wicked side, and at some points in the show when he started throwing out sabotage ideas that were more sadistic than the hosts, Richie really wondered what the fuck he was trying to pull identifying as a submissive. 

This was an analysis that Richie put on the back burner for now, but he seriously wanted to ask Eddie later on in their friendship (or relationship if he wanted to be stupid enough to get optimistic) if he ever thought about giving the Dom lifestyle a try. He’d be better at it than Mark, that was for sure.

“I wish I could go there,” Eddie mumbled, staring at the sweeping view of India on one of the programs Richie found absolutely boring. Their talk of cuisine was narrowed to a few pans and zooms of street vendors that went by all too quickly. It felt like a nature documentary on humans in their natural habitat and, honestly, felt a little demeaning to the people who lived there—like they were some fantastical attraction instead of people living their daily lives.

“Why can’t you?” Richie asked, gently running his hand up and down Eddie’s calf across his lap. 

“I don’t leave the country.”

“Why? Are you on the Do Not Fly list? Wanted by the CIA?”

“I don’t fly over the ocean. I’d love to travel, but...no. I just can’t. Planes...exploding. Lost at sea forever. I can’t. I’m not going missing.”

“Okay,” Richie said, trying to mull the information over a bit before spitting out the first dumb answer that came to mind. “What about, like, cruises and stuff? I mean, you can’t take a boat from the US to India, but I’m pretty sure there are ships that—”

“That get overtaken by pirates or go missing. I don’t want to die on a ship either. I can’t swim...” 

“Well, then it’s a good thing there’s so much to see in the US. I’m sure there’s a Little India here in the city or something.”

“There’s a spot with some really good restaurants. I like it. Most of them are vegan, so that’s one allergy down… Still not the same as seeing the Taj Mahal in person.”

“You can go see the Winchester Mansion. It’s pretty cool.”

“You can’t compare the fucking Taj Mahal to a crazy person’s death trap!”

“Fine, go tour the White House.”

“That’s even worse!” He raised his voice, but the arguing still felt playful. 

“Okay, fine. Where would you like to go? Inside the US. Anywhere. What’s your dream vacation?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know. Not the White House.”

“I’ve got a list of places, but next spring I want to check out New Orleans. I’ve never been, but Beverly says it’s really something. She’s a foodie like me, so she knows all the best local places to hit. I like buildings and museums and stuff, but the restaurants—now _that’s_ how you explore culture.”

“It’s really amazing. New Orleans,” Eddie said, his voice suddenly sounding mournful. When Richie looked over at him, he seemed a bit haunted. His big eyes were downcast toward the rug and his fingers were worrying a thread on the couch cushion.

“You liked it there?” Richie watched his expression more than anything, not surprised in the slightest when Eddie began describing a vacation with Mark and how much fun he’d had. It must’ve been back in the days when Mark was still trying to keep up the appearance of being a caring partner. Richie refused to believe that someone who could leave Eddie in the condition he’d been in could be a good _person_ at all. 

“The food was good, too,” Eddie told him, after finishing up a rather racy story about a sex club they visited that was definitely, _definitely_ now on Richie’s, ahem, to _do_ list. “I got to try the coffee at Cafe du Monde and a lot of the restaurants were really accommodating for me. I got sick from one place, but that happens every time I travel.”

“Like food poisoning sick or like someone slipped you peanuts and tried to murder you sick? You gotta make that distinction, my man.” 

Eddie laughed at that, then passed a glance in his direction that seemed to mean something though Richie couldn’t fathom what.

“I think there was dairy in it. I’ve learned not to trust mashed potatoes I didn’t make myself. I _always_ get fucked over on the mashed potatoes.”

“Can you even _make_ those without dairy? I mean, unless you’re doing the instant flakes—”

“A lot of those have dairy in them. Thus, why I don’t let other people make my mashed potatoes anymore.” 

Richie got him talking long enough to explain his method for vegan mashed potatoes, and was apparently attentive enough that Eddie saw fit to text the recipe to him in case he wanted to try it on his own. 

He would, absolutely. Just to have an excuse to text Eddie again once he was home in LA. He could make a success or a complete disaster and have a photo of his somewhat glamorous kitchen in the background to pique Eddie’s interest maybe. 

“Maybe when you’re feeling better we could make something together,” Richie offered. “I can cook a little bit, but it’d be neat to, you know, learn some other things besides Ramen noodles and canned soup.” He could actually cook fairly well, but he wasn’t about to tell Eddie that.

“Maybe,” he said, sounding less interested in the idea than Richie had hoped. 

“We could do it like _Cutthroat Kitchen._ Draw sabotages out of a hat or something. I can only cook over a campfire in the middle of Central Park or something.” That got Eddie to smile and when the man glanced over at him again, Richie felt his stomach fill with butterflies. 

“We can have Ben and your friend Beverly be the judges,” he suggested. “Ben’s something of a foodie, too. I think you guys would get along once he’s convinced you’re not here to steal my bank account info or trade my TV for drugs.”

“Shit! He figured me out already. At least he didn’t notice I stole the blender.”

“I made smoothies with it this morning, dumbass.”

“Did I say blender? I meant...Xbox.”

“I don’t have an Xbox.”

 _“Anymore._ But I got some good crack cocaine out of it. Now my eyes are on your printer.”

“Ugh, please take that thing. I can put in an insurance claim and get a new one from work. Mine’s a piece of fucking shit.”

Eddie squirmed around then and Richie took his hand off his leg, thinking the man needed up to get his medication or use the bathroom. A moment later, though, and Eddie had resituated himself to lay with his head in Richie’s lap while he still faced the TV. 

Richie froze for a moment and could feel the tension in Eddie’s shoulders, like he was waiting to be told to move—or for Richie to make a rude comment, or to say anything at all. After a few seconds to adjust and talk himself down from his mix of euphoria and panic, Richie settled into running his fingers through Eddie’s hair as gently and casually as he could. Little by little, he felt that tension bleed away as they both watched the television, much more engaged in the new program that was coming on.

Yeah, Richie was pretty sure they were dating.

( ) ( ) ( )

Eddie knows he’s being a fucking moron, but he just can’t help it. Every morning he wakes up to a virtual stranger in his bed and somehow doesn’t let himself be horrified by it. Every morning he wakes up to blue eyes and black hair and never, not once, an empty bed or a text message letting him know his door is unlocked for anyone to just come barging in.

Eddie was kind of glad he never gave Mark a key to lock up. It pissed Mark off something awful, but Eddie liked his privacy. He didn’t like the idea of coming home from work to find someone else already in his home. It was bad enough coming home to a surprise visit, and subsequently a surprise scene, a few times a week. Thank God he didn’t need to ask Mark for a key back or to have to worry about changing his locks. 

They’d known each other a little over a week now, and slowly little things of Richie’s were now in his apartment like a travel toothbrush and paste and his razor. He still went back to his friend’s place to shower and be a polite guest since he’d supposedly come to New York for inspiration and to _visit Beverly._ Beverly who he saw for about five hours a day while Eddie was working from home and then a little more than that when Eddie was finally able to go back to work. 

He made it into the office on Friday, intentionally going while he still looked a little sick so everyone might think it was just the illness that had taken him down and not anything to do with the marks he sometimes had in embarrassingly visible places. His boss had even pulled him aside once to ask him if he were okay due to a bruise on his neck and a shiner on his cheek. That one had actually been from banging his face on a cabinet and he felt stupid saying so, but the mark on his neck was from his collar being too tight and he had no excuse. So he played it off and his boss kept giving his worried looks that made Eddie unbearably anxious.

He got shirts with higher collars and longer sleeves, which he always kept down—even on that awful day that the building’s AC had broken on their floor and he was sweating through his clothes. One of the directors on the floor even walked around in his undershirt that day, high up enough in the company that he could get away with shit like that. Eddie had spent all day in and out of the bathroom, throwing up from the heat and chugging water, but didn’t dare roll up his sleeves and show the marks from his leather cuffs. He’d asked Mark before about not leaving bruises in places he couldn’t hide, but Mark told him it was his own fault for struggling in his bindings so much to leave marks. He had a point… It wasn’t like Eddie didn’t enjoy being tied up. After doing it for so long, he had a hard time actually reaching climax without being bound in at lest once respect—his collar, his wrists, his ankles...anywhere was nice. Until Mark got too rough and it wasn’t. Eddie didn’t realize until he’d stepped back a bit how harsh with him Mark really had been. 

Or, rather, how stupid he himself was for thinking he had what it takes to be an actual submissive. It filled him with shame any time he looked back on it. Almost every scene they had carried some element Eddie didn’t actually like. He had too many hard limits, too many boundaries… He also wasn’t self-sufficient at all when it came to aftercare. Eddie enjoyed bondage and had really liked impact play up until that _awful, horrible_ night. He promised himself he was never going to be stupid enough to let someone hit him again, whether he found pleasure in it or not. He didn’t have what it takes… That chapter of his life was over and he hated himself for feeling sad about it. 

He’d had other little fetishes he had been trying to work up the courage to talk to Mark about, and now all of those hopes and dreams were dashed… Eddie doubted he’d ever trust anyone enough again to even voice them, let alone try them.

Maybe if he felt up to dating again he could find someone who liked the rougher side of pure vanilla. Assuming there was even a person alive who want him once all the scars from that fuck up of a show settled in—both the physical and the mental. 

He could already feel himself building up more walls, giving himself pep talks whenever he was alone about how much better he would be at vetting his next partner. No more Doms, no more guys big enough to take him in a fight, no more guys who don’t work in the professional environments. No more losers… With his laundry list of requirements and his even longer list of personal issues, he was positive he’d never actually find anyone.

Which probably wasn’t such a bad thing… He’d been lonely before. He could get used to it again.

He’d be better at convincing himself of that, too, if he didn’t have Richie around falling all over him. Richie who kept finding him meals that never made him sick no matter which restaurant he went to to pick up dinner. Richie who would beg him for another triple berry and banana smoothie before he left in the morning—even though he’d already had one. Richie who slept at his side every night and never made a move. Who changed his bandages and treated his wounds and was honest with him when one of the worst cuts started to look infected again instead of trying to pretend it was all fine. Richie who watched the Travel channel with him and would make shitty jokes the whole time they watched cooking competition shows.

Richie who lived in fucking Los Angeles—practically as far out of reach as the moon. 

Eddie told himself over and over not to get attached, and yet here he was, drinking coffee with the asshole in question at the coffee shop attached to his office building. Eddie _knows_ it’s stupid, but he can’t get away from the other man. Years’ worth of emotional neglect was being slowly chipped away by Richie’s unwavering attention. It was too good to be true—he told Ben as much every time they rode the elevator together—and yet there he was, falling hook, line, and sinker for Mr. Blue Eyes. 

“So, I was talking to Beverly today and I wondered if you’d want to do a dinner get together thing, maybe. We could go out or I can make something—”

“I don’t trust you with an oven.”

“I don’t want you to be deprived of mashed potatoes, though,” Richie said while grinning this little sideways smirk that had Eddie feeling some kind of way. He wanted to cook together, that’s what he was saying, and he wanted to invite Beverly to join them so he could show Eddie off in the daylight this time. 

“You’re not touching my oven. If you’re wanting to cook, you’ll have to talk your friend into letting you use hers.”

“That should be fine. You can invite Ben if you want. We can make dinner, maybe have a few drinks. It’s up to you. I just thought it could be fun.” Richie smiled at him, nervous this time, and it gave Eddie butterflies. Because he was a fucking moron. 

Mark still called him over and over again every day. Mark still showed up, one time even appearing outside Eddie’s office building. It had been hell trying to find another way out to get to his car and not be seen. Then he had to spend his entire evening with Richie pretending he wasn’t anxious as hell, afraid Mark was going to show up and cause a scene.

Richie lives in Los Angeles, Eddie reminded himself. He was fresh out of a three year relationship and he didn’t need to start a fling with someone who lived _all the way across the country._

But, despite all that, he said, “Sure. I mean, yeah. That sounds great. What night? I can ask Ben if he’s free.”

“Cool! Awesome—yeah!” He looked so shocked and happy that Eddie had to turn away and take a sip from his coffee. Richie expected him to say no. Mark had always looked baffled if Eddie said no to anything, like the thought of being denied something by his sub, even outside of a scene, was unacceptable. Richie was completely blown away to hear yes even though Eddie had spent several consecutive nights sleeping at his side… It shouldn’t be as shocking to Eddie as it was. “Um, any night works for me and Bev. Whatever works for you guys.”

Richie spent the rest of his visit beaming at Eddie and texting Beverly, showing off how excited he was that Eddie agreed. He was sweet. Richie was very sweet and underneath his composed, formal appearance, Eddie’s heart was breaking into pieces. 

Attractive, caring...didn’t ask for much. _Yet._ The perfect guy at the wrong time, Eddie thought to himself. Wrong place, wrong time. 

“When are you heading home to LA?” Eddie asked, bringing himself back down before he could reach cloud nine. 

All good things must come to an end, he reminded himself. Their time together was limited. Their time together was running out.

“Uh…Friday. Well, my flight is on Friday, but I… Oh, man. I’m going to sound stupid as fuck. I’m thinking of extending it to Sunday. If that’s cool. I was going to have a weekend at home before going back to work and try to get some writing done before I go in in the morning, but...I like it here. I want to keep seeing you.”

“Dude, go home and get sleep. You don’t need to hang around on my accord. I’m not dying anymore.” Eddie forced himself to smile as he said it, forced himself to look unaffected.

Richie looked almost hurt for a second, then shrugged and cradled his cup of coffee.

“I guess, yeah… I just thought a few more days couldn’t hurt. I-I like you, Eds. I like hanging out with you.” He was staring at his coffee and Eddie was quick to do the same when those blue eyes flicked up toward him.

Eddie was about to tell him quite bluntly, “That’s fine but you live in LA. You know that, right?” But, instead, what came slipping past his stupid, moronic lips was, “Yeah. I like hanging out with you, too.”

They were both quiet after that, drinking their coffee in silence until Eddie needed to go back to his office. They both had to be thinking the same exact thing, Eddie imagined.

Right person, wrong time. 

It was foolish to think it, especially on Eddie’s part. It was reckless and probably just some stupid bonding hormone released by his brain after Richie had taken care of him for so many days. Just because Richie was the polar opposite of Mark didn’t mean he needed to go and catch feelings. 

Richie was a Dom, just like Mark. And Eddie was through with that life. 

That was what he told himself over and over to keep from getting excited when he mentioned the idea for dinner at Beverly’s place to Ben. 

“Are you...falling for this guy?” Ben asked him as they rode the elevator down to the ground floor after their day came to an end.

“What? No! We’re just friends. He lives in LA.”

“And if he didn’t?”

“What?” Eddie asked, playing dumb and not sure why. 

“If he didn’t live in LA. Would you still just be friends?”

“I’m not trying to land a new boyfriend. Mark and I just broke up, like, a week ago.”

“I don’t know,” Ben said, smiling to himself in a way that made Eddie’s blood boil.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I saw you two together, and you don’t talk about anything else. You _still_ haven’t told me what happened with Mark and every time I invite you out for drinks, you say no.”

“I’ve been on antibiotics—”

“All you drink is seltzer water when we go out anyway. You’re hanging out with that guy. Is he sleeping over?”

“It’s not like that,” Eddie said, face heating up despite his best efforts to remain composed. They walked together to the parking deck, Eddie with his hands clutching the strap of his briefcase.

“So, yes. He is.” 

“It’s not like that. We’re not sleeping together. I just… It’s nice to have someone there. In case Mark shows up, you know? It helps me not...not do anything stupid.”

“If you need me to tell him off, just say the word. Give me his address and I’ll put the squeeze on him.”

“I don’t need you to go threaten Mark. It’s fine. I have it under control.”

“Like that time he put a huge fucking bruise on your face?”

 _“That_ was an accident,” Eddie snapped.

“Jesus, Eddie. It was only a matter of time before he took it too far. If he’s coming around even though you asked him to stop, he doesn’t respect you. What are you going to do when Richie goes back to California and you’re still here? What are you going to do when Mark shows up and you don’t have an excuse not to talk to him?”

“He’ll give up eventually,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, when you take him back because you’re lonely and bored. Do you not remember that one time, what was it...sometime after you two just got serious. Something happened, just like this last time, and you said you probably wouldn’t see him again. A month later and you bring him up like nothing even happened.”

“That was different.”

“Alright. Well, just tell me if you need anything, alright? I’ll help you when Richie goes back to LA. If you need me to sleep on your couch a couple nights, you already know I don’t mind. I owe you one anyway. Okay?”

They had reached Ben’s car and Eddie found himself agreeing, just to bring the discussion to an end. They agreed to text later about plans for their dinner, and then Ben got in his car and Eddie continued on to his own—fearing with every step that Mark would pop out from behind a pillar or someone else’s vehicle. 

He didn’t—thank God—but the fear stayed anyway. 

He checked the backseat and remained on edge the whole drive to his building, the whole time he fought to find parking, the whole time he walked from his car to his door. Until he was inside and the door was locked and he was texting Richie saying it was okay to head over whenever, he was nervous he’d see Mark.

As he was every single day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of action in this chapter, but I think some feels need to get sorted out. But don't worry, Eddie's conviction to a vanilla lifestyle is about as permanent as a tattoo from a packet of children's gum. I'm also stupidly excited for Ben and Beverly to meet, so more soon! Thank you for reading. As always, you guys are so wonderful and awesome!


	7. Chapter 7

They were going to make salmon together, Eddie had texted him right after he left Eddie’s apartment the morning of their planned dinner date. Dinner _party?_ Richie didn’t know what label the evening was wearing, but he was excited. (Beverly seemed happy, too—at the prospect of a home-cooked meal topped with Richie’s promise to clean the kitchen and do the dishes once he was done.) Eddie was bringing the fish since he claimed to know the best market in all of New York City, leaving Richie poking around the grocery store looking for the best asparagus and yellow-skinned potatoes he could find.

His first thought was to go to a farmer’s market and find some top tier asparagus that would show up Eddie’s top tier, special fish, but Beverly looked at him like he was an idiot and told him he’d have better luck growing the asparagus from seeds and having them grown enough to harvest by the time Eddie got there than he would finding good asparagus in the city. Same with potatoes. 

So he sucked it up and bought a couple expensive bundles of organic asparagus and a couple of the most expensive yellow-skinned potatoes along with a few other ingredients Eddie had put on the list like minced garlic and fresh cracked pepper. He was bringing _his own_ spices (apart from his pepper grinder) and was very cocky about it.

Richie felt like he must’ve missed the gourmet spice rack when he was poking around Eddie’s kitchen in search of food in the middle of the night. He got a sample from it that morning when Eddie made him a chocolate, cold brew shake that tasted like a chocolate cake and brownies fucked with a sprinkle of cayenne pepper mixed in that somehow made it even better. He couldn’t even taste the pea protein powder Eddie mixed in it. 

He was going to miss this shit when he went home to LA.

As it was, Richie had spent his morning tidying up Beverly’s apartment while she worked in her studio. Sometimes she came out for a refill on her tea and would sit with Richie a while in the living room to talk—smiling at him while he fretted about Eddie and Ben. 

He hadn’t mustered up the courage to ask any more questions about Ben except what he liked to drink so he could pick some up at the store. Eddie’s answer had been a curt, “Ben is bringing alcohol. I don’t drink. What do you and Bev want?” So Richie got no answer and was left panicking that he’d invited some other guy, a local guy, who had feelings for Eddie to their dinner. He just didn’t want Bev to feel like a third wheel, and now he was afraid he was bringing two star crossed lovers to unite at her table. 

Bev, however, kept rolling her eyes whenever he would voice this. “If he had feelings for Ben, don’t you think _he_ would be the one sleeping over every night?”

“I don’t know. I just _sleep_ there. It’s not like we do anything.” They’d never even kissed. They just...slept side-by-side in Eddie’s bed, got up together, and ate (well, sipped) breakfast together before Eddie left to go to work. Then they got together and ate dinner and watched TV and...slept. Like a fucking non-stop, adult slumber party. 

“He knows you live in LA, right?” Beverly asked. 

“Yes, he knows I live in LA. He knows I moved my flight to Sunday. He knows… Which is why he’ll probably end up fucking Ben and I’m going to be back in LA—”

“No worse for wear than you were when you left,” Beverly said, fucking up his hair and smiling at him. Her words were anything but reassuring. “Richie, I know you like him, but don’t go getting your heart broken, okay? I’m sure he’s nice and I know you think he’s cute—”

“Think? You saw him!”

“I saw a weepy mess getting blood all over my backseat, who made my whole car smell like BO.” 

“That was _not_ his fault,” Richie said, feeling flustered on Eddie’s behalf. He hadn’t noticed a smell at all that night. He’d probably been desensitized to it from being inside the club, but if Eddie heard her say that, he would be mortified. He was such a _clean_ person. Richie honestly wouldn’t be surprised to find out part of his regular shower routine was to give himself a fucking enema just to make sure every last bit of himself was tidy. 

And, _fuck,_ didn’t that just open the door for another six dozen filthy fantasies starring Richie’s not-boyfriend boyfriend. What he wouldn’t give for just _one chance_ to treat him properly before he left. It didn’t even have to be kinky stuff. Richie wasn’t exactly ready to risk his health and get on his knees for a BJ, but there were plenty of other fun services he could offer that didn’t risk exposure. Eddie deserved it after what Mark had done to him. 

“Well, regardless of whose fault it was, he was still stinky. And you still live in LA.” With that, she left him on the couch to go back to her sewing machine. She was participating in a fashion show next month—what she called her _second_ biggest break yet—and was on the third prototype for her final piece. Her “masterpiece” she called it. 

Richie knew fuck all about fashion, but every version of the dress she’d shown him had looked fine—and they were all damned near identical minus a few different pleats and stitches here and there. It reminded him of the red carpet gown she’d sold to some teenage celebrity the previous year, but he kept his mouth shut about it. He’d seen _The Devil Wears Prada_ enough times to know that the most subtle differences between two items could make a massive impact. That and different shades of blue had different names.

After watching a rerun episode of _Bar Rescue,_ Richie got back to work cleaning up the already tidy apartment and fussed a little more with the kitchen. It was hardly even past noon and he was fretting as if Eddie were on his way over at the moment instead of drinking coffee on his lunch break with Ben. 

Big, tall, muscular Ben. Richie didn’t stand a chance…

( ) ( ) ( )

If Ben told him to stop worrying one more time, Eddie was going to deck him. He’d probably end up in a heap on the sidewalk in front of Beverly’s nice apartment building, but at least he’d get the satisfaction of landing a surprise blow to the side of Ben’s chiseled face. 

“I’m not _worried_ about anything except this fish not being kept at temperature.”

“Oh, my God! Eddie! It’s fish! People walk home from the grocery store with fish every day. It’s not like it’s ninety degrees out. It’ll be fine.” 

“Yeah, you say that until you get Listeria and all four of us are fighting to use the one toilet in this woman’s apartment.”

Ben’s response was to sigh as loudly as possible as they climbed the steps to the door of Beverly’s building and pressed the buzzer. Without even asking who it was, they buzzed them into the building. Had to have been Richie, Eddie thought as he shook his head. No New Yorker was that lackadaisical about building security. They could’ve been serial killers, or stalkers, or—or anyone, really!

“Relax, Eddie. You act like you’re meeting the parents or something,” Ben said, shaking his head in disapproval as they started up the four flights of stairs to Beverly’s unit. Eddie didn’t want anything to do with elevators in buildings he knew nothing about.

“I told you, I am worried about the _salmon_ being kept at temperature. I spent too much money on this fish to have everyone—”

“For the last time, Eddie! No one is getting sick from the fish! It wasn’t that long of a drive.”

“All I’m saying is we probably all will, and this whole thing is going to be a disaster.” To be honest, Eddie didn’t even know why he was nervous. He’d met Beverly before and Richie was really not difficult to impress. He was pretty sure the wacko was on the fast track to being in love with him, and it kind of scared the fuck out of him. Eddie realized he probably had more than one thing wrong with himself, too, if he was aware of that and wasn’t hightailing it in the opposite direction. He felt like he’d decided to sit down on a roller coaster that he _knew_ was going to derail and yet had waited in line for hours to jump in the first available seat anyway. 

He felt like a fucking idiot.

Fuck, he couldn’t breathe.

“Did you bring your inhaler?”

“Yes,” Eddie said, handing the bag of carefully wrapped salmon fillets to Ben as he rummaged around in his pockets for the inhaler. He took a deep breath from it, his eyes going closed as he waited for his lungs to stop screaming. Ben probably thought he was out of shape, needing to rest on the third flight of stairs out of four. 

God, he hoped he wasn’t sweaty and gross by the time they reached Beverly’s door. He didn’t want to sweat off his cologne. He’d already made one bad impression on Beverly. He didn’t need to make another.

Finally, Eddie got his breathing under control and they continued up the stairs to Beverly’s door, unit 411. He knocked and barely a second later, the door was swung open and Richie was there—beaming at him like he really didn’t expect him to show up.

“Right on time!” He said, gesturing for them to come inside. 

The apartment was nice, decorated in warm colors with vintage style furniture that didn’t look too old or too tacky. It was still a hodgepodge of different items, but they flowed together nicely.

“This is authentic,” Ben said, touching the ceramic bowl that served to hold an array of keys and lanyards by the front door. “It has to be,” he added, handing the fish, the bag of wine bottles, and the six pack of assorted craft beer to Eddie who immediately passed it off to Richie.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you. Bev’s kind of a hothead about her stuff—”

“That’s a Ligmodge. Please don’t drop that. Richie already broke the lid.”

“Guilty,” Richie said, looking only the slightest bit ashamed of himself as his redheaded friend appeared from a hallway around the corner. She was dressed in gray slacks with a comfortable black t-shirt and a silk, floor-length duster with a white and yellow floral print. She put Richie in his white and blue Hawaiian shirt and gray jeans to shame.

“This… This is worth like eight—”

“Nine hundred, actually. Until Richie dropped the lid. Now it’s a pretty bowl for my keys.” She was smiling brightly despite the very visible discomfort in her eyes—which lasted until Ben had set the bowl back on the little table and backed away from it. “You must be Ben.”

“Uh… Yeah. And you’re Beverly, right?” He was smiling nervously, his hands going deep into the pockets of his jeans. 

Eddie and Richie looked at each other, sharing one long, uncomfortable and amused gaze, before Richie gestured toward the kitchen while Beverly asked Ben how he knew about ‘Ligmodge’ and what he knew of antiques.

“How did work go?” Richie asked, setting the beer and wine down on the pristine, black counter top before—yes!—tucking the fish safely in the fridge.

“Fine. What about you? Get any inspiration?” Eddie asked this while picking up the bag of gold potatoes that were on the counter. They were the same brand Eddie would’ve bought for himself if he were going to the store. It made him smile, but he turned away so Richie wouldn’t be able to see it.

He didn’t need the guy getting more attached than he already was. He left Sunday, and he wasn’t getting his hopes up for a quick tryst if Eddie could help it. They were just friends… 

Richie lived in Los Angeles, he was _established_ in New York, and he still had a fucking crazy asshole ex-boyfriend he needed to worry about. He didn’t need to go add some bullshit long-distance thing that wasn’t going to work out to the mix. 

“I did! I got a couple pages filled up in my joke book this morning.” This led to a somewhat comical story about a woman in a mini dress turning into an impromptu Marilyn Monroe in the subway station when a train blew past. “I’m glad I’m not a chick. I couldn’t even imagine how many fucking wardrobe malfunctions I’d have in a single week.”

“Why? It’s not hard to put on appropriate clothes.”

“I don’t know—I feel like everything would just, you know, jiggle out of place.”

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about?” Eddie asked, looking at him in repulsion. Richie just grinned at him, his wide smile not betraying whether he’d been serious or just trying to get a reaction out of Eddie. 

They did a little more catching up while Eddie familiarized himself with the kitchen and all the cooking supplies they had at hand. It wasn’t quite as large as his, but there was enough counter space even without an island bar and he started to feel his nerves bleed away into stifled excitement as Beverly and Ben came to join them.

“Do you guys want help with anything?” Ben asked, sounding (and looking) like he really wanted them to say no. He was basically giving Eddie puppy dog eyes, and Eddie could honestly have laughed at him. Beverly had come over to the counter and peered over the wine that was sitting out, reading the label on the bottle of red and then the white. Ben had gotten played by more women than he could count, and had trouble opening up to anyone after discovering how shallow and callous a lot of the women who entered his social circle tended to be. 

In a way, Eddie was glad to not be as conventionally good looking as Ben. Eddie could get attention, but he didn’t get used as arm candy—or end up with women who tried to use him to get pregnant and rich. 

“I think we’re good here. Eds?” Richie said, looking to Eddie whose focus snapped back to him.

“Don’t fuckin’ call me Eds. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

Beverly looked startled for a second, but Richie just kept on smiling—which led to her smiling and letting out a tiny little chuckle that seemed to make Ben melt. Oh, fuck, he was already in deep. Eddie could hardly keep from rolling his eyes. Body of steel and heart of goo, that one.

“Which of these do you think will go best with the fish, Eds?” Beverly said, smiling at him just as cheekily when he looked from Richie to her. 

“The white wine,” Eddie answered, resigning himself to the awful nickname for now. He couldn’t yell at a woman in her own home, and if he even dared to raise his voice in his own defense, he’d just look like a dick. He doubted she would have the same sort of wit Richie possessed—but then again, with the way she was smirking at him, she just might. 

“Do you mind if we open the bottle of red to start?”

“No—yeah, go ahead,” Eddie said, feeling heat bloom in his cheeks as she continued making eye contact with him the whole time she pulled out the drawer to retrieve her bottle opener. He wanted to ask her what the hell she was looking at, but then wonder if she was looking at _Richie_ instead. As soon as Eddie turned to him, though, he whipped around and grabbed up the potatoes Eddie had been looking at before.

“Are these the right ones?”

“Yeah! Those are gonna be great. Oh! I have the spices in my pocket—hang on.” Eddie began digging the little jars and containers out of his jacket pockets, feeling his face burn hotter when he heard Beverly laughing—before he realized she was laughing at something Ben had said and not at him.

“I’ll leave the bottle here for you guys if you want some,” Beverly said, moving the bottle over toward the edge of the counter where it would be out of the way. “But don’t let him drink until the sharp objects are put away. He’s a clutz, Eddie. I’m trusting you.” She winked at him and Eddie choked, hating how out of control of himself he felt. He was usually terrible at meeting new people, but this had to be one of his worst introductions yet. 

“So… I take it Ben’s straight then,” Richie mumbled as he opened up the two sacks of potatoes. 

“What, were you trying to use me to get to Ben? Is that it?” Eddie asked, trying not to sound offended. He didn’t really buy it, but once the thought popped up, it started making more sense. Ben was the conventionally attractive one. Eddie had been out enough times to know he was anything but unattractive, but he wasn’t on the same platform as chiseled Ben and his perfect facial hair. Eddie had tried growing his out once and just looked like a greasy car salesman.

“Yes. I sleep in your bed every night hoping I wake up and you’re Ben—No, I’m not trying to get with him. I thought maybe you guys had a thing going. I was just curious.”

“Me and _Ben?_ Dude, he’s my best friend!” Eddie shuddered, even though internally he was still mulling over what Richie had said, the little joke he’d made. ‘I sleep in your bed every night hoping I wake up and you’re Ben.’ Did that mean—well, it obviously meant he woke up happy that it was still Eddie. Dude was in love with him. Why did Eddie feel the need to keep finding more and more bits of evidence to obsess over?

It would end badly if they even tried. Richie would cheat—because he lived in fucking LA—or one of them would try testing the other by not texting for a couple of days and then they’d just fade off into the mist, like none of it ever happened. Eddie was fine with Sunday being the day that none of this ever happened—the day he could start forgetting that someone else had to scoop him up off the floor of a bar and get him dressed and get him home. That someone had seen him naked and had to treat his wounds for him because he was too much of a helpless mess to do it himself—and because he’d picked a partner who never actually gave two shits about him and left him to die. Yeah, Sunday couldn’t come soon enough. And Richie was definitely _not_ coming back to his apartment with him tonight.

They needed to cut ties. He’d do it respectfully. Cordially. 

‘You seem really great, but I think we both know this isn’t going anywhere. Let’s just be friends, okay?’ He’d say it just like that and then by Sunday they wouldn’t even be texting and he could just forget everything.

Every single, beautiful little thing.

“Oh, Beverly got us dessert for tonight. She knows this little vegan bakery that has _amazing_ chocolate truffles. They’re made with, like, avocado and shit, but you’d never fucking know. I thought they were just regular little cake cake balls or something. Damn are they good. And the place even uses chocolate from some company that doesn’t process nuts in the same building, like at all. One-hundred percent dairy and nut allergy safe! I didn’t even realize how hard that was to find ‘til I started doing some Googling—”

“They’re not—are they from CiCi’s? Do you know?” Eddie asked, his chest clenching. 

“Uh—I can’t remember. That sounds right. It’s on the box. Let me check.” 

They were. They were the chocolate truffles from CiCi’s that Mark used to bring him on special occasions. There was no way for Richie to have known about them, about how they were Eddie’s absolute favorite—and from one of his all time favorite dessert shops.

“Don’t tell Bev,” Richie said, plopping one of the chocolates into Eddie’s hand with a devilish smile before going back over to the potatoes he’d been in the process of rinsing.

“I don’t think she’ll notice,” Eddie answered, laughing a little before he popped the chocolate into his mouth. Beverly was sitting on an orange chair across from Ben who was on the couch, telling stories about antiques he’d come across while studying abroad his junior year of college. “Is she into pottery or something?”

“Her aunt was some kind of connoisseur but couldn’t actually afford anything. They watched a lot of _Antiques Roadshow._ Bev does fashion now, though. I don’t understand any of it, but she has my support. I’m coming up next month to see her show.” 

“Is it on the weekend?” Eddie asked, mouth still partially full of wonderful, delicious chocolate. 

“Yeah. Uh, Saturday the eleventh, I think. She and a bunch of local designers are all participating. It sounds kind of neat, even though I don’t know jack shit about dresses. They’re pretty though.”

He didn’t mention meeting up and Eddie didn’t push it either. It would be better if they didn’t—no matter that the stupid fluttering in Eddie’s chest said otherwise. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Richie had worried that Bev would feel like the third wheel if he just invited Eddie over for dinner. Now, he and Eddie were both sharing awkward, ‘well, what can you do?’ looks back and forth across the table while Beverly and Ben prattled on and on. She tried to show interest in Eddie, and Ben similarly tried to get to know Richie, but before long at all, they were both back to talking to each other exclusively over the fantastic fucking dinner he and Eddie had made.

Well, Eddie made most of it. Richie kind of helped prep stuff. It became very clear very quickly that Eddie was something of a control freak—giving instructions that Richie started to follow only to have his task taken over by Eddie a moment later. Richie didn’t mind it so much—a license to be lazy, right?—but Eddie would catch himself and apologize. They still had fun cooking together, even if Richie mostly chopped stuff and watched clocks and Eddie did the rest. 

The salmon was phenomenal, and even though Richie had never realized you could or were “supposed” to eat the skin off a salmon filet, it turned out fucking amazing. Eddie seemed proud of himself, too, and mentioned that Mark hated fish and threw a tantrum any time Eddie would make it. 

Eddie himself didn’t care for red meat because it was unhealthy, and tried to limit his consumption of fish, too, because of the mercury in the water—but he never, ever protested if Mark put a steak down in front of him or ordered him a burger. He wouldn’t particularly care for it, but he wouldn’t complain.

“It sounds to me like he was a real dick, just sayin’,” Richie said then. He’d been leaning on the counter, sipping the last glass of red wine because Beverly had already come for a second and got a beer for Ben. 

“He was,” Eddie admitted. “He so fuckin’ was. I don’t even know what the fuck I was thinking.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Pricks are good at taking advantage of people with good hearts. Take it from me.” 

This spurred Eddie to ask him about his past relationships, and that conversation lasted up until dinner hit the table. Even Eddie seemed puzzled by why Richie’s last partner had up and vanished on him. Richie even described (as vaguely and politely as possible) the last scene they’d had to see if maybe he’d done something wrong. Eddie might not have been the best judge on what was good and proper in a D/s relationship, but hearing him say that he agreed nothing seemed wrong or out of place made Richie feel a little better. 

It was his biggest fear that he’d hurt his partner and the guy just fled instead of telling him or giving him the chance to make it right. Richie doubted he’d ever really know what happened—especially since he was blocked from all of his social media accounts and his friends had all blocked him. Richie was left completely in the dark, no idea what he’d done. 

“You know, I kind of felt like that, too. Right after the show. I mean, it’s all hazy and shit, but Mark… Mark was pissed at me and said I was an embarrassment and that I did really bad, but the other guy said I did fine and… I didn’t have any idea what I did.”

“Well, you didn’t do anything,” Richie said. “He was just pissed someone else showed him up. You know that. Right?”

“I know,” Eddie said—then threw himself back into plating their food. It was a strange, tense subject to leave it on. Luckily, the mood at the dining table revolved mainly around Ben and Bev flirting with each other while pretending they weren’t. 

Richie was two glasses deep in white wine, Ben and Bev having the remaining two while Eddie was content with water. Ben was showing the effects of his drinks about as much as Beverly and once the plates were empty, Eddie and Richie were left shaking their heads.

“You sure you don’t want a drink, Eds?” Richie asked. He was feeling like dipping into some of the craft beers Ben had bought.

“I don’t drink,” Eddie answered, glancing over at Ben who was boisterously laughing at something Beverly had said. She, too, was laughing and covering her face with one hand while her other rested on the table. 

Both Richie and Eddie glanced at her hand, laying there in invitation—as if she and Ben were the only two people who existed in the world. As soon as Ben laid his hand down on hers, Eddie shook his head and started pushing back his seat.

“You know what, I think I’ll have a beer.”

“Whoa—Whoa, did you say you’re getting a drink?” Ben asked, suddenly pulled out of his little separate world. His hand, though, stayed on top of Bev’s. 

“Yeah. Is that a problem?” Eddie asked, a little smirk on his lips that had Richie swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. 

“No!” Ben shook his head, looking a little dazed and confused though he tried to smile through it. “I thought you were driving tonight.”

“Oh, you can’t be going already,” Beverly said, looking so alarmed that it made Richie laugh—which got him a nasty look from his friend. She was on the right side of drunk to be unable to match context to comments, and seeing her startled at the thought of her new hunk of a dinner guest leaving just as the fun had started to begin.

“It’s one beer. I’ll be fine,” Eddie said, moving toward the kitchen and gesturing for Richie to follow him. 

As soon as they were both in the kitchen, they started laughing.

“Is he usually like that? ‘Cause if he tries messing with my friend I’m going to have to kill him.”

“He’d snap you like a toothpick,” Eddie said, leaning down into the fridge and pulling out two of the beers from six pack. He examined the labels, put one back and pulled out another which he seemed to like more. 

“I still have to defend Bev’s honor.”

“Honor?”

“That’s my best friend, dude. I’ll punch you, too.”

Eddie smirked at him then, that same little look that made Richie’s stomach do acrobatics. “Careful now. That’s one of my hard limits.” Eddie laughed after he said it and handed Richie one of the beers. “I picked this one out for you.”

“Oh! Thank you,” Richie said, accepting the drink even though he felt he should probably stop while he was ahead. He wasn’t a lightweight by any means, but having Eddie around was already like taking a shot of good, foreign vodka on an empty stomach. 

“It tastes like coffee. I know you like your coffee,” Eddie said, his smirk seeming almost fond—but that might’ve been a trick of the light, or the effect of hearing Bev babble at Ben in the next room. 

“Thanks, Eds! I’m excited to try it. Which one are you having?” 

“Uh, just an IPA. They’re usually gluten free.”

“What, are we taking chances here tonight? Bev’s got a wine cooler if you’d rather have some wine and play it safe.” Richie didn’t expect Eddie to take him up on the offer, but the man looked up at him through his lashes while turning the hopefully-gluten-free IPA over in his hands.

“Really?”

“Yeah. She’s more of a red drinker. Nothing fancy, but it tastes good.” It would be a lie to say he wasn’t jealous of Beverly and Ben hitting it off in the dining room. (That was part of why he didn’t pick up the dirty dishes he’d promised to clean when he fled. He left them in there with the stinky salmon juice covered plates, though the kitchen didn’t smell much better.) The thought that Eddie might drink a little, might want to open a bottle of wine and share it with him...might _stay._ It was too intoxicating of a whim to ignore.

Their time was running out and Richie was desperate for every spare second he could get—and was doing a shit job at hiding it.

“Um…” Eddie looked down at the beer again, then inclined his head to peer back toward the dining table. “Yeah, sure. I’ll take some wine. If she doesn’t mind.”

“She won’t care. I can get her some more tomorrow. It’s no big deal. I’ll pour you a glass.”

Eddie put the beer back into the fridge and checked his phone while Richie got out a bottle of red wine. Whatever was on his screen made him roll his eyes and jam the phone back into his pocket. 

“He’s at my apartment.”

“Shit, seriously?” Richie asked, almost knocking over the glass he’d just set out. “Do… Do you need to—”

“No. Sorry, it just… Fuck, he’s starting to scare me. But I can take care of it. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Go ahead and vent. Here,” Richie said, handing him the wine. Eddie swirled it, sniffed it, then took the tiniest of sips—really just wetting his lips with the wine—before letting out a sigh. “You don’t have to talk to about it. I just know sometimes it’s nice to just get it out, you know? It’s not like I’m gonna judge you.” Richie shrugged and tried to take on the most unassuming posture he could manage. 

Eddie looked at him and sighed again before taking a real sip of the wine. 

“It’s nothing new, really. Just the same shit he always did. If we ever had fight, he always just showed up, you know? It used to be normal, like with chocolates—oh! The chocolates! Would you mind if I…?” Eddie gestured to the fridge and Richie smiled at him and shrugged.

“Help yourself. We’ll save one or two for the lovebirds but the rest are yours. I already had, like, five before you came over.”

“Thanks.” 

Before long, they had abandoned the kitchen for the guest room where Richie was staying—beer, wine, and chocolates in tow.

“What does Beverly do to afford this place? It’s nicer than mine,” Eddie said, admiring the street view from the window.

“She designs for some department stores and does a bunch of freelance stuff. She told me she sold two dresses to some hotshot pop star and paid the lease for a year.”

They talked about Beverly and then Ben for a bit. He was an architect with a different company in the same building as Eddie’s, and climbing fast. His plan was to get a good team together from the business where he worked and then pull them to start his own. He was just about as ambitious as Beverly.

They were going to be the next power couple and Richie was going to end up alone with his beer gut in LA. He just knew it. Unless he gave everything up and started over in New York…

And he just _couldn’t_ do that. He was doing well in LA. He was known in LA. Maybe when he was bigger… Maybe when he was known by the world and not just a city, he could come back and…

And what? Hope Eddie was still hanging around waiting for him?

In the next room, Beverly let out a boisterous laugh and Richie’s spirits sunk even more. 

“So...you’ll be in the city again next month?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah. Just for Friday and Saturday night. The show is Saturday night and I leave Sunday afternoon.”

“Maybe we could meet up before your flight. I can make you a smoothie or something for the road,” Eddie said, hiding behind a large gulp of wine once the words were out. 

“I would love that, actually,” Richie said, trying to keep his heart from leaping the way it wanted to. It wouldn’t do him any good to get his hopes up. The timing was all wrong. 

And yet, if it weren’t for the way he gulped his wine like he was embarrassed for saying it, Richie might’ve thought he was just saying it to be polite. 

“It’s going to be weird. You know, being back home. Sleeping by myself again.”

“Listen, uh… I don’t want to come across like an asshole, and...and I hope I’m not making the wrong assumption or anything, but now it’s...it’s not a good time. You know that, right?” Eddie was looking at him as if he were pained, his lips pressed into a thin line. 

Richie took a quick swig from his bottle of beer, which did in fact taste an awful lot like coffee, and then nodded his head.

“Yeah. No, I know. I do. I’m not trying to push you into anything or trying to get you drunk and get in your pants or whatever. I just like you. I like spending time with you.”

“Yeah,” Eddie answered, nervously finishing off the wine in his glass and then staring at the little bead of red in the bottom a moment. “Yeah.” He grabbed the bottle off the dresser where Richie had set it and filled the glass again, quick to take another sip. 

Outside the room, Ben and Beverly were speaking animatedly, laughing together while Eddie squeezed the stem of his wineglass. 

“If you want I should give you some space, I don’t have a problem with that. I-I ask if you want dinner most nights, but you don’t have to keep saying yes if you don’t—”

“I know that. I know, okay? I know how to tell people no. If I can kick my partner of three years out of my apartment and be happy not to see him again, I can tell some nobody from nowhere that I don’t...don’t want him sleeping in my bed.”

Eddie took another sip of wine, then moved to sit on the bed, staring down at his glass while Richie fidgeted with his bottle of beer. Ben and Beverly were talking, laughing—having the perfect date despite the stinky dishes Richie left out for them. Fucking sucked… Richie hated himself for the jealousy he felt. 

“It… It’s just bad timing, you know?” Eddie said, looking at the glass of wine. “I probably shouldn’t have dragged you into it. No, I _shouldn’t_ have, there’s no ‘probably’ about it. I… I should’ve called Ben or just sucked it up and gone to the hospital. It was selfish for me to—”

“To what? To let me help you? Eddie, listen, you could’ve told me to split at any time and I would’ve listened. And if I didn’t want to be there, I wouldn’t have kept talking to you. Alright? You’re not guilty of anything. We haven’t done anything wrong. You were sick, I helped you out. What’s the matter with that?”

Eddie took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I feel like I was leading you on… I was so out of it when I asked you to stay that first night. I don’t even really remember much of anything—”

“Yeah, you were sick as hell. I thought you were gonna fuckin’ die. I don’t have to want to get in somebody’s pants to care if they die or not. If I’m in the position to help someone, I will. It doesn’t have to be about romance or anything. Yeah, I think you’re fuckin’ hot, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it’s not the right time to make a fuckin’ move.” Richie took a long drink from his beer and Eddie huffed out a laugh beside him.

“Did I tell you… Did I ever say why I kicked Mark out of my apartment?”

“You mentioned he was being a dick and threw out your lunch,” Richie offered.

“He, uh, came in mad at me. I tried talking to him and he...he hit me. He hit me that night before the show, too. We had this agreement that once the collar was on, that was the start of the scene. I… I didn’t have my collar on before the show and I definitely wasn’t wearing it in my apartment. It made me think of all the times he just hit me and said it was part of the lifestyle.” Eddie paused, licking his lips before taking another drink of wine. Richie let the silence draw out, feeling Eddie had more to say and that anything he himself offered up would just detract from the point he was trying to make. “These last few days I’ve really been thinking. I don’t know when he started crossing the line or why I let it happen in the first place. I’m done with it, though. I’m done with that lifestyle. If I can’t tell the difference between abuse and...then I don’t need to be participating.”

“Which is fine,” Richie said, daring to place his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. The man turned to look at his hand, then rested his warm cheek against it for a moment. “I don’t blame you. If what happened to you had happened to me, I would probably feel the same. Mark’s an asshole and he didn’t know a good thing when he had it. He’s a sadist, not a Dom. And believe me, there’s a big fucking difference. Not everybody’s like him though. You’re a great guy. You’ll find someone who can treat you right, who isn’t going to fuck with you and risk fucking it all up.”

Eddie nuzzled his hand one last time, then straightened up and took another drink, gulping down his wine until the glass was empty. Richie’s bottle of beer was still halfway full and Eddie was now filling up his third glass of wine in under half an hour. Eddie who didn’t usually drink…

Fuck, he was trying to get wasted and Richie didn’t know why—or if he should try to stop him. Did he feel like he needed to get drunk in order to say what was on his mind? Or was he trying to have an excuse not to leave? Or to see if Richie would try to take advantage of him while he was wasted? It felt a whole awful lot like a test, but the distraught look on Eddie’s face as he sat back down even closer to Richie on the bed had Richie second guessing himself. Maybe he was just upset and drinking himself down. Richie had done that enough times himself.

“He tried to force me into a scene. He tried to… I think he would’ve raped me if I didn’t hit him back. I really think he would’ve. And he’s been showing up outside my apartment and outside the office at work. He’s following me, calling me, texting me non-stop. I’m fucking scared. He says he just wants to talk and make things right, but I’m so afraid he’s going to finish what he started in my apartment.”

The words turned Richie’s stomach to ice and he set his beer down on the floor in order to put an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. He looked like he was about to cry, his breaths coming shaky as he patted his pocket and pulled out his inhaler. 

“Do you think maybe you need to get the cops involved? Like a restraining order or something?” Richie asked, rubbing Eddie’s back as his breathing evened out. “Or, shit, you could use Ben as a human shield—”

“Ben doesn’t need to know about it. He doesn’t know about any of it—”

“Ben knows more than you think. He said some stuff when he came by that one morning. Pretty sure he knows you’re kinky as fuck—and that your boyfriend was a fucking asshole.”

Eddie looked mortified and hurriedly swallowed down more wine. 

“Bev knows I’m freaky. It’s not that big a deal.”

“That’s private! That’s _private_ stuff!” Eddie still looked horrified at the idea, one hand coming to hold his cheek like a bad actor on a soap opera. 

“Sorry ‘bout your luck?” Richie said, shrugging and trying to offer a grin when Eddie looked to him in shock. “Really, dude. It’s better that he knows. And I know you like your privacy and you like doing things on your own, but when it comes down to it, that’s not always safe. You live by yourself. Mark knows it. And I’m pretty sure at this point you’ve kept me around because if he fucks with you, there’s someone who’s going to notice it. You’re scared he’s going to break into your fucking apartment. He _could._ I’m gone on Sunday, but Ben is here and I’m pretty sure he could kick Mark’s ass if you need him to. He’d probably enjoy it, too. Stop thinking you need to handle everything by yourself. It doesn’t make you less of a man to have someone fighting in your corner. It’s the _smart_ thing to do.” 

Eddie nodded his head, then looked at Richie with the biggest, saddest eyes Richie had ever seen. It was like he was pleading for Richie not to go—not to make him tell Ben, not to leave him on his own. 

“I don’t just keep you around in case Mark breaks in,” Eddie said, that same sad look in his eyes. 

“I hope not,” Richie said, his stomach twisting up as he looked into those deep eyes. It was stupid. He was being stupid keeping his arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “I’d like to think you keep me around for the puns. They were pretty tea—”

Richie’s mouth suddenly had Eddie’s warm lips closing over it. He tried to pull back, but Eddie just leaned forward into it and brought the hand not holding his glass of wine up to cradle Richie’s cheek and bring him back in. Eddie was drunk, had to be, and Richie knew he shouldn’t let it happen—but he found himself unable to jerk himself away. 

They slept side-by-side for days… They never touched, never cuddled, and certainly never kissed. Richie would like to think that maybe he _had_ passed some test. The timing was wrong and all of it was _wrong,_ but his feelings were true and he felt that Eddie had to reciprocate them at least a little bit. Why else did he keep asking for Richie to come back?

Fuck it. It was only a kiss, right? Richie was _not_ going to sleep with this man when he was drunk. Eddie wasn’t someone he wanted to hook up with and never see again, or use as a bootycall when he came through town to visit Bev. Maybe something would happen between them later on, or maybe it wouldn’t—but he wasn’t going to fuck it up by getting over-eager and going in for more than he deserved. 

Richie pulled the glass of wine out of Eddie’s hand and broke off the kiss in order set it aside next to his bottle of beer on the floor. Eddie was staring at him, watching him with nervous eyes as he raised his hand to caress Eddie’s cheek—ghosting his thumb over the little bit of a stubble there. 

“I leave on Sunday,” Richie said, his voice soft as Eddie leaned into the touch on his cheek. 

“I know.” Eddie continued staring at him, his hand now laying over Richie’s on his cheek.

“I don’t want to.” Not that it mattered. He had to. They both knew it.

“It’s better that way. You don’t want to get stuck with a mess like me.” Eddie flinched away from him then, looking like he was about to cry, and reached for his glass of wine. 

Richie stopped him, hand closing around Eddie’s wrist and pulling him back up. 

“You’re not as bad as you think. Don’t give that fucker the satisfaction.” 

Eddie’s face softened, but he still looked close to tears. Whether they were drunk tears or not, they were legitimate. He was in pain. He was frightened. 

Slowly, Richie leaned in to kiss him again, hoping that somehow it gave him comfort, that it reassured him he had never been deserving of the abuse Mark dealt him, that he wasn’t alone—even if they were about to be thousands of miles apart.

Eddie’s tongue tasted of wine, and the sweet smell of it hung on his breath as they laid down on the mattress and held each other. Outside the room, Ben and Bev were laughing together, music beginning to play from her record player. Richie pulled Eddie close against his chest and kissed him deeper, sighing into it as one of Eddie’s hands tangled in his hair. 

In that instant, Richie loved him; there was nothing he could do to save himself from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! Stay safe out there and I hope to see you again soon!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short! It's sort of a transition chapter before we get into them reuniting. I am impatient, I guess haha!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Eddie’s plans fell through, and he wasn’t so sure if he was grateful or not for that yet.

Richie had gone back to LA two weeks ago. Hardly an hour passed that they weren’t texting unless one or the other of them was asleep or in a meeting (or doing a set, for Richie).

They were supposed to fizzle out. They were supposed to lose interest in each other and go back to life as normal. Or at least somewhat normal… Eddie was still acclimating to the single life, deflecting Mark’s calls and hiding in his office until long past the time Mark would be willing to wait outside of the building for him. His lease was up in four months, and he was now spending his free time trying to locate a new place to live—just so Mark couldn’t show up unannounced anymore and try beating the door off its hinges.

Seriously, the guy couldn’t take a hint. And he didn’t take no for an answer. Or “No, go away.” Or “Please, Mark! Please, just go home!” Or any of the other pleads Eddie came up with. 

To be honest, Eddie had started looking at positions with other companies, just so he could hide himself completely. He’d trade in his car for something newer and spiffy, and Mark would never know what happened. Maybe he’d even go all out and cut off his hair or get a tattoo. Eddie was honestly so frightened and so humiliated, he was considering any and all options for change.

Richie’s advice was a restraining order, but you had to update those with your current home address...which would give Mark his address if and when he moved. Eddie would just have to stick it out—stick out the two a.m. door poundings and the “working late” camping at the office until after eight. He didn’t go to the gym anymore, didn’t feel safe to go for a run, and had even started to have his groceries delivered like some kind of recluse.

He _hated_ it. His shoppers always got his produce wrong—sometimes so much so that it seemed deliberate. Nectarines instead of peaches? Green apples instead of _Golden_ Delicious? On what fucking planet does asparagus count as green beans!?

And, if all that wasn’t bad enough, Eddie was having to acclimate to his new scars… Richie tried being optimistic with him, spouting off that it was “way too soon to tell” because most of his injuries still had scabs or were still in the midst of healing. The only wounds Eddie had seen disappear completely were the marks where his harness had rubbed his flesh raw. So his chest, at least, was spared. Whoop-dee-doo. He couldn’t go swimming shirtless with a fucking cape on to cover his fucked up back. 

He could never go swimming. Never go to the beach… 

It was a good thing he’d decided he was done with dating, permanently, because the mere thought of having to explain his scars made him nauseous and on the verge of tears. Hypochondriac, allergic to everything, mommy issues, and now...conventionally unattractive and damaged.

Yeah, Eddie had _so_ much going for him. Who could resist all _that_ charm?

The only time he didn’t feel like a lonely waste of space was at work when he was being praised and denoted as the strongest analyst in his department. And, of course, when he was talking to Richie.

Which was, as a matter of fact, quite literally all day every single day—with only the time difference keeping them apart. Even so, that just meant Eddie could talk to Richie up until the last second he fell asleep (usually getting a strange “Good Morning!” text sent to him around four or even five in the morning when Richie was going to bed (so anywhere between one and two in the morning his time).

Mark never sent good morning texts… Or goodnight texts. Or “what’s for lunch” texts. 

Eddie waited and waited for Richie to lose his enthusiasm, but he never did. He sent funny selfies and pictures of his awful microwaved lunches, called in the evenings sometimes if he wasn’t doing a set or whatever else he got up to in LA. Eddie didn’t ask specifics, trying to keep himself from getting in too deep.

He didn’t know why. It was already abundantly clear that he was in over his head. It didn’t help either that Ben and Richie’s friend Beverly were still talking, too. Every morning when they got coffee and rode the elevator together, their conversations centered around 1) how tired Eddie looked, 2) what Beverly was working on for her show, and 3) if Eddie was still talking to Richie.

Every day he said that he didn’t see it going anywhere, that it wasn’t going to last, that he was positive they were just talking as friends. Ben usually rolled his eyes at that part and reminded him that he couldn’t remember the last time that he’d slept over in a guy friend’s bed...with the guy in it.

No one was going to let him live it down that he got drunk and passed out with Richie in Beverly’s guest bedroom. Nothing even _happened!_ They kissed, but there was no fucking way Ben or Beverly knew about that… His face heated up just to think of it. He’d been _drunk._ He was _always_ affectionate when he got drunk. 

It had _nothing to do with Richie._

“You know, you smile every time he texts you,” Ben said before clearing his throat and leaning back in his chair. They were both on their lunch break enjoying coffee while eating the lunches they’d brought for themselves from home.

“Fuck off. No I don’t,” Eddie said, making sure to get his face under control as he texted Richie who was just now rolling out of bed. He sent a bedhead selfie. He looked fucking ridiculous. Eddie was grinning because it was funny to see such a slob, not because he was catching feelings for someone who lived almost three-thousand miles away. 

“Right. You’re just grinning at your boss’ emails. I get it. You always were a workaholic.”

“It’s called liking your job. Is it suddenly illegal to like what you do for a living?”

Ben just laughed at him while Eddie typed a reply to Richie. Typically he’d send back another photo, showing off how put-together he was—you know, setting a good example and all—but he knew Ben would comment if he did.

Richie: _Would kill for one of your smoothies right about now. Hangover from Hell. Plz Hold._

_A smoothie wouldn’t help. You need to drink water. H2O. Ever heard of it?_

Richie: _Water = Gross. Eddie Smoothie = Good._  
Richie: _Well…...not a smoothie MADE of Eddie. That’d be gross. I’m gay but I’m not Jeffrey Dahmer Gay._

 _Lucky me?_

“Yeah, still smiling, Eddie.” 

Eddie hardened his face into a glare which just got Ben to laugh at him before he started digging into his salad. It took more willpower than it should’ve for Eddie to set his phone aside and start to eat as well. He’d brought some soup today and it was starting to get cold. 

By the time his workday had come to an end, Eddie was caught up in Richie’s daily life drama which consisted of not knowing where to find his next meal, ripping his pants by getting his belt loop caught on a door handle, and his ill-fated TV dinner (AKA Lunch) that ended up in a spattered mess on his kitchen floor (all containing photographs). He spent the next three hours trapped at his desk with little to do besides stare at his phone, sad and bored, because Richie was involved in some “taping” and wouldn’t be free again until after six...so, after nine o’clock for Eddie. 

In the three hours he sat at his desk, he finished two additional reports, caught a mistake in one of his boss’ final briefings (which he hesitated to, but eventually did email the man about), and deflected eighteen phone calls from Mark. 

Eighteen.

That didn’t even cover the texts that Eddie was afraid to read. He’d see Mark’s name at the top of his screen and his chest would seize up, his mind tossing out vibrant snapshots of that awful night at the bar until he was taking desperate, fruitless puffs from his inhaler.

What the hell did Mark want from him? He had nothing of Mark’s at his apartment, and he was willing to sacrifice the few bits of clothing he’d left behind at Mark’s place. It’d been almost a month. Why couldn’t he just let it go!?

He was still hiding in his office come eight-thirty, his phone still ringing again and again with Mark’s name flashing on the screen. Eddie was terrified he was outside the office. Terrified he was outside his apartment. Eddied didn’t want to walk out of this place alone, and he didn’t want to call Ben and admit that he was still having problems with Mark. 

He had nowhere else to turn though—not with Richie busy. 

Maybe he could just call Ben and pretend nothing was wrong. Yeah, he could do that. He’d act casual. Mark wouldn’t mess with him if he saw he was on the phone. He didn’t want _caught,_ right?

Eddie’s hands were shaking as he gathered his things and went down the elevator. He waited until he was in the dimly lit lobby before pressing the dial button, not seeing Mark right out from of the building which was a good sign. It reassured him a little. 

“Hey, everything okay?” Ben asked as soon as Eddie stammered out his awkward, not casual at all greeting.

“Yeah… Um, yeah. Just leaving the office. It was _nuts_ today.”

“You’re just now leaving? Eddie, it’s almost nine. What were you doing? Cross-checking everyone’s spreadsheets for the past eight years? What the hell?”

“Uh… Something like that. I caught a mistake in this one thing my boss was set to present the day after tomorrow. Crazy, right?” He was trembling as he rounded the corner to the parking deck, his eyes scanning every person he saw—head to toe—as if Mark was going to be wearing someone else’s face as a disguise and he’d be able to see through it by looking at his shoes. No Mark. Good sign.

Okay. There was no way he was crazy enough to walk up and down every row of cars in the twelve story parking deck. He was good. 

“If I, uh, if I drop the call it’s—it’s from the elevator in the parking garage. Uh, you know how the signal can be. Right?”

“Eddie, what’s the matter? Is Mark… Is Mark still bothering you? Do you want me to come pick you up?”

“No! No that’s fine. I just wanted to tell you about that report. Richie, you know, he doesn’t get it.”

Ben let out an uncomfortable “uh-huh...” as Eddie hurried through into the parking garage and started up to the fourth story where he was parked.

“So—So how was, uh… How was your day?”

“It was good… Eddie, what’s going on?”

“Nothin’. Just riding the elevator. If I… If I disappear. You know, dropped call. I’ll call back though,” he tacked on quickly. 

He was shaking so hard his keys were rattling in his left hand where he had them wedged between his fingers to use as a weapon. His mind had him convinced Mark would be standing there as soon as the elevator doors opened, but—of course—he wasn’t. Nor was he under or near Eddie’s car, or hidden in the backseat. 

Eddie felt foolish, but at the same time so relieved he could almost cry. It wasn’t over, though. Mark could still be at his apartment… But at least he had the drive home to feel safe, untouchable. 

“Is he still bothering you? You can tell me. I’m not going to show up and start anything, just… If something happens, it’d be nice to know the first person to look at. Do you know what I mean?” Ben’s voice was calm, but still heavy with concern. 

“Yeah… Yeah, no. I do, it’s just… I don’t know. He’s been calling a lot.”

“Calling a lot? How… How often is a lot?”

Eddie did his best to explain as he drove, trying not to give in to his mounting fear as Ben confirmed his biggest fears. Mark wasn’t going to stop. Mark was getting worse with time and not better. It was only a matter of time before Mark attacked him. 

“You’re playing with fire here, and you know it. If you need to stay at my place for a while, you know that’s not a problem. I’d feel better knowing you’re somewhere safe. I mean, c’mon, Eddie. This has been going on for _weeks._ Does he know about Richie?”

“He—He knows Richie helped me. That he was there when I was sick, but… Shit. I don’t know. I can’t just uproot my whole life because Mark can’t take a hint—”

“He’s crazy! Staying at your place makes you an easy target. If you’re gone a while, he’ll think you left. Shit, get your landlord in on it. Have them put an eviction notice on your door so he thinks you moved.”

“You know he’d just break in… There’s—There’s no _winning_ in this, okay? I just have to wait it out, or...or wait for him to—”

“Kill you? _Hurt_ you? Eddie, I know what he’s like. I’ve seen the bruises—”

Eddie listened to Ben try to talk sense into him, his head resting against his steering wheel as he sat in his car in his apartment building’s parking deck. He hadn’t seen Mark out front, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t waiting at Eddie’s door...or already inside waiting to confront him. 

He didn’t want to go inside and see, but he knew he couldn’t just live his life in fear and wait in the car until midnight, either. It wouldn’t change anything. If today was the day Mark was going to kill him, he wasn’t going to leave just because the sun went down. 

He didn’t want to, but he had to go inside and see.

( ) ( ) ( )

Richie was on cloud nine leaving the studio. He’d been invited to partake in a late night talk show, which mainly consisted of him doing different voices in the context of a slapstick skit. The live audience seemed to love it, laughing even without the flashing light that told them to. A nice lady in the studio’s costume department even stitched up his ripped belt loop for him so he didn’t look like a slob. He couldn’t wait to tell Eddie to tune in. 

He wondered if he would. Would he stay up past his wimpy ten o’clock curfew to watch a little late night special? Richie had a feeling he’d say he didn’t want to but actually would.

Only when Richie took his phone out to check it, he was met with a notification for a missed call from a New York number he didn’t recognize and a text from Bev and then Eddie—all around the same time, though Eddie’s was close to an hour later than the others. 

Bev: _I gave Ben your number. I hope that’s OK. Call us!_

Eds: _Yeah… So. I’m sure you heard. Mark got arrested._

Richie stared at the message in horror, his stomach sinking. His heart had started to race so fast that his vision was becoming spotty, and Richie found himself sinking down to a squat just a few paces away from the studio’s glass front doors. If Eddie was texting, that meant he was alive and well, right? Or alive _at least._

Richie couldn’t think of anything to say back, but found himself pressing the button to call him and make sure his friend was still breathing.

Eddie answered on the fourth ring, sounding groggy and drained but still a thousand times better than Richie had been expecting. He didn’t know what dead would sound like talking on the phone, but it wasn’t just out of it and sleepy like he’d woken Eddie up from a nap.

“Hey. How was the...whatever it was?”

“Fine—are you okay? What happened?” Richie asked, the spots returning to his vision again so that he had to move to sit cross-legged on the glossy tile floor.

“Got home… Mark was there. I had Ben on the phone, so… I kinda felt like it was gonna happen.”

“Wh-What? What do you—What do you mean? You—You felt like what was… What happened?”

“Um… So, yeah. He’s been… He’s been calling me for weeks. All day. Guess I didn’t tell you that part, huh? That he calls all day. Um, sorry if I don’t make sense. I’m on opiates... It’s _really_ nice. I don’t usually take this stuff, but...they offered and I said okay. Surprised I’m not allergic, right?”

Eddie chuckled, sounding a little more than just relaxed, and Richie tried not to give in to the panic. Him freaking out from three-thousand miles away wasn’t going to do any good—especially if there was a chance his panic would, for lack of a better term, harsh Eddie’s buzz.

“You… Are you hurt pretty bad?” Richie asked.

“Uh—I was. But, I feel pretty good now, though. I’m at the hospital still, but Ben’s here.” 

“What did he do? What—What happened? He was waiting for you? He attacked you?” Richie swallowed, his chest starting to hurt so much he wondered if he was having a heart attack.

“Yeah… I got home and...and—and when I got inside, he was inside already. I don’t know how.” In the background, Ben was explaining something that seemed to go over Eddie’s head—either about Mark convincing someone to get the door open or having picked the lock. “I got inside and he just… He just stabbed me.”

“He… He wh-what? He did—He did what?” Richie didn’t know what to be more horrified by—the fact that his sort of boyfriend had been stabbed or the fact that Eddie said it and then started laughing about it.

“You should’ve seen it… No one taught him anything. He never listens.” Eddie chuckled again and then let out a long, sleepy sigh. “He stabbed me with a knife I _used_ to use to cut up my...my smoothie stuff. It’s got this short handle, you know? So when he stabbed me, his hand went— _fwwk!_ Right up the blade. I didn’t even feel it, you know? Right away. But I saw him flapping around getting blood on _everything._ Everywhere, Rich… Everywhere. He was whining like a little girl.”

“Well, yeah, he’s a pussy. We established that a long time ago, Eds. Are you okay? Where did he stab you?”

“Kitchen.”

“I… I meant your body,” Richie said, laughing a little despite himself. Eddie had said it so definitely, so matter-of-fact. As if Richie had proposed the cure to hangover was more booze and Eddie was correcting him with a curt, _‘water.’_

“Oh! Uh… Hands? Yeah. Hands, arm… Chest.”

“Chest!? He stabbed you in the fucking chest!?”

“Kinda. Like I said. His hand went _fwwk!_ And then the knife was just...there? And I… I pushed it? I think? I pushed it. And it just fell. It fell. Oh! _And_ I broke my phone. It’s all cracked now. What good’s a twenty-dollar case if my screen shatters falling two feet?” He sounded more upset about the phone than the stabbing, but it seemed as if he were still in shock from it all. 

“When did all of this happen?” Richie asked.

“Like...eight-ish? Eight? Ben? Eight? Nine…”

“And you’re still at the hospital?”

“Yeah. I’m just waiting to leave… They’re running all these test, but what they’re _really_ doing is running up the bill. I don’t care, though. I got this nice tube and baggy that’s full of the good stuff. I could’ve left an hour ago.”

“Babe, you just got there an hour ago.”

“Babe? Oh—me.” Eddie started chuckling again. “Yeah, guess I’m fully...fully single. Ex’s gonna be in jail for, what? Five to nine?”

“Try a lifetime, Eddie,” Ben could clearly be heard saying in the background. 

“Oh… I guess it’s pretty serious. I guess I’m waiting to talk to the cops and stuff still. Probably why I can’t leave. I’m just really hungry.” Eddie sighed then, sounding almost like his typical, frustrated self. “How was your whatever it was?”

“It—It went good. I’ll be—”

“Well! It went _well!”_

Richie laughed despite himself and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Oh, of course, Mr. Kaspbrak. I didn’t tell you I flunked out of fourth grade English class.”

“I believe it...”

“But, yeah, it went _well._ If...If you’re stuck in the hospital and they’ve got cable, I’m gonna be on TBS tonight.”

“Wait—Wait, what? You—You? You’re gonna be on TV? Like in a commercial?”

“Like on a show?” Richie said, finding himself able to get back on his feet. Eddie was talking and coherent and calm. There was nothing more he could do for him from three-thousand miles away than talk to him and keep him company, offer him comfort. 

“They let _you_ on TV? Have they seen you? That’s a joke—I’m joking. That sounded mean.”

“They really did give you the good stuff, huh?”

“Hm? Yeah. I’m really tired… And I really want something to eat.”

“I don’t know if I can DoorDash anything to your hospital room, Eds, but I can try.” 

This got Eddie to laugh for him again, something he so seldom did when they were in person. He definitely had to be on some good shit, and was absolutely still in shock. God, Richie hoped he’d be okay when he came down from it. He hoped Ben would be there… Richie would kill the man if he wasn’t. Eddie needed all the support he could get.

“Are you going home now?” Eddie asked after their conversation reached a lull.

“Yeah. I’ll be sitting in traffic for, like, six hours though. So you don’t have to go or anything. I mean, unless you’re tired or something comes up. I know you probably need some rest.”

“Yeah… I should probably call my boss later. I don’t think I can go in tomorrow. My hands are a mess… My hands are a mess.”

Richie shuddered at the thought. The longer he sat in traffic with Eddie sleepily telling him quirky things about his nurses and hospital room, the more it sunk in. 

The person he spent all day texting almost died tonight. The person he was really falling head over heels for was in a hospital all the way on the other side of the country, doped up and in shock. The person he could quite possibly be in love with was going to come down from his high sooner or later and Richie wasn’t going to be there for him.

“Hey, what channel are you on tonight? I want to watch… There’s a little TV here, but we might leave… I don’t know. I want to watch it. See if you’re full of shit.”

Richie laughed at that, unlocking the door to his apartment. He imagined how it would feel to come home and find out a moment too late that there was an intruder inside. To imagine Eddie going through that, it made him sick. 

“It’s on TBS. I’m not on the whole thing. I just have a skit I do. Good publicity though. I’m pretty excited.”

“You should be! It’s exciting… It’s exciting talking to a guy who’s on TV.” Eddie yawned then and Richie felt himself torn between hurrying him off the phone for his own good so he could get some rest and seeing how long he could keep this up. So long as he kept Eddie distracted, he wouldn’t come crashing down, right?

“What, did you think I was some amateur?”

“Plead the fifth,” Eddie said.

“Ouch! That stings! I mean, I’m not some hot shot like you, but give me a little credit. You saw my good suit.”

“Shh. Oh, wait. Never mind. Never mind, yeah—yeah, I did.”

Richie, having no idea what that was about, laughed. He laid himself down on his couch, taking off his glasses and setting them aide. 

“Hey—Richie, I gotta go. The cops are here now. Um… Um, yeah.”

“Okay. Don’t tell them about the smoothies I made. Get some rest and I’ll text you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay. Oh! Richie?”

“Yeah?” Richie couldn’t help the way his heart leapt just from hearing Eddie say his name like that—like he was eager, like he didn’t want Richie to hang up the phone.

“I’m—I’m excited to see you in a couple of weeks. If you’re still coming.”

They had no _spoken_ plans of meeting up again when he was in town for Beverly’s show, though it had been heavily implied—especially since Ben and Bev were becoming an item, even though she insisted it was just “casual.” 

Casual was him and Eddie, not meeting up for dinner and drinks every other night and reading each other’s favorite books.

“Yeah. Me, too. I’m more excited for you than the dresses. Though if you want to put one on and walk the runway, that’d keep my interest for sure.”

“In your fuckin’ dreams, asshole,” Eddie said, sounding the smallest bit more like himself.

“Oh, yes. Drag Queen Eddie is one of my favorite fantasies yet.”

“No. Never. Never, never. I have to go. But—But I’m gonna text you when the show is on. I’m gonna watch. So stay up.”

“It’s only, like, seven o’clock here, Eds. Don’t think that’ll be a problem. But I’ll get out of your hair. Keep me posted, alright? I worry about you.”

For some reason, that made Eddie laugh.

They said their goodbyes and as soon as he was off the call, Richie was squinting at his phone to text Beverly and ask her side of what had happened. 

She didn’t know much beyond what Eddie had told him, that he’d been attacked and stabbed in the chest and that “poor Ben” had to be on the phone with him when it happened. He’d had to hang up, leaving Eddie on his own, in order to dial 911. They caught Mark because the dumbass checked himself into the same ER where Eddie ended up, seeking treatment for his hands. Apparently he didn’t realize his victim might call for help.

Guy probably thought Eddie wouldn’t dare speak against him. Richie hadn’t seen much of the inner workings of their relationship, but hardly anything about Eddie even said submissive, let alone compliant, helpless slave. He was loud and opinionated and painfully independent. How was Mark so full of himself that he didn’t realize Eddie would turn on him sooner or later?

Psychopath… That was the only explanation.

Richie laid there texting Bev, ordering himself a pizza from his phone so he didn’t have to get up and make food. Bev gave him little updates from the hospital room as Ben was texting her about what the police were asking and what was being said. Nothing too in-depth, though. 

A while later, after his pizza had come and Richie was trying to watch B movies on Netflix to push the assault out of his mind, texts from Eddie started coming in again.

Eds: _Heading to Ben’s place. Hope I don’t miss your show. I’ll be mad._

“If you do it’ll be on YouTube later. Don’t keep yourself up. I know you have a bedtime.”

Eds: _Yeah. Already missed that. Too hungry to sleep. All the places I can eat are closed._

“I’m sure Ben will make you something. He’d better. I’ll fight him.”

Eds: _L O L… You’d LOSE. He’s getting stuff from my place later and said he’d get me my own food._

Richie was thankful for Ben letting Eddie stay with him for a few days. He couldn’t imagine Eddie feeling comfortable or safe back at his own apartment, especially not with Mark’s blood and probably his own blood spattered everywhere. God, Richie had the worst crime scene photos manifesting in his head and he couldn’t stand it.

He had half the mind to get a plane ticket and fly out to New York tonight just to check on Eddie in person—just to go find some obscure, insanely overpriced twenty-four hour specialty grocery store so he could buy all the gluten, soy, dairy, flavor, taste, spice-free food they had in stock and bring it to Eddie.

For a minute, Richie was even scrolling travel sites and checking flight times and prices. There was just no way for him to leave now and be back on time for the morning meeting...and he couldn’t miss. Not after just coming back from an extended vacation with another day of leave coming up.

It had hardly been a month, and Richie was already tired of the distance keeping them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and to all of you who have taken the time to comment! Your messages really keep me inspired and pick me up when I'm having lousy brainfog days. More soon!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's take a trip into the twisted mind of Mark. Or, if you don't want to see that happen, please skip down to the first set of ( ) ( ) ( )s! Stay safe!

Mark had it all laid out. What he would say, what he would do, how he would do it. He even had a list of scenarios for what _Eddie_ would probably do and what he would try to say. 

Assuming Mark even gave him the chance to speak. No, Mark was over hearing anything Eddie had to say. He had been trying for weeks to get Eddie to listen to him, and he just _wouldn’t._ He was hiding somewhere—probably at that other man’s house. Richie or whoever he was. Whatever bastard Eddie was cheating with. There was no doubt in Mark’s mind that this little affair had been going on long before his punishment at the dungeon. 

That was okay. Eddie was going to pay for it now. And, if he decided to bring his new boy toy over, Mark would take care of him, too. 

Mark went over his plan one last time, cross-checking every step with the objects in his black bag. He had all the things Eddie hated. Zipties, duct tape, a gag, a couple of different belts, a small assortment of toys, and a knife just big enough to get his message across. 

He was going to go over there and he was going to wait. He knew Eddie came home every night. He would wait in the dark outside and watch for the light to come on in his bedroom. Mark was smart enough to know not to make a habit of going up there and knocking on the door when it happened, though. Eddie was a fool, but he wasn’t stupid. He could recognize a pattern if it presented itself to him. It was better he thought Mark _didn’t_ know he hid at his office. It was better he thought Mark wasn’t aware of his affair with Richie or whoever. It was better Eddie didn’t realize Mark had eyes on him and that he couldn’t make a single move without Mark being aware.

Mark was his _master._ It was his job to know Eddie’s moves and he had from day one. The pathetic little control freak didn’t need to be made aware of that, though. He didn’t need to know that Mark spied him at the grocery store, spending ridiculous amounts of money on produce. He didn’t need to know that Mark knew what bank he frequented, what barber he saw, what hospital he preferred… Eddie didn’t need to know the encyclopedia of information Mark had built up on him over the years. 

It wasn’t a slave’s place to know and question its master. 

Mark felt an inferno of pure rage grow in his chest whenever he thought about how disrespectful his slave had become. This game had gone on too long. He let Eddie have his illusion of space to calm down and get his shit together, now it was time for him to be reminded of his place. He was a _slave._ He answered to his _master._ He didn’t get to embarrass and shame Mark in front of an entire room of other Doms and get away with it. His punishment at the dungeon had been generous. 

Eddie was just so much of an entitled, whiny bitch that he didn’t appreciate how tame it really was. And so much of a drama queen that he really thought Mark was just going to leave him to _die?_ After all the time and money he’d spent on him? No. Eddie didn’t get to _die_ without his permission. If he died, Mark was going to be the reason, and he was going to be there to watch him take his final breath.

Which, if Eddie didn’t _apologize_ and thank Mark for the punishment he was about to receive, he very well might get the pleasure of doing just that—taking the final breath from Eddie’s lungs. 

He doubted it would come to that. Eddie was weak willed under his brash, independent front. It was all too obvious with how often he slipped off into his subspace any time they ever had a scene. He didn’t have the guts to stay in the moment and take what he was given. He wouldn’t be doing that tonight, though. If he even looked close to spaced out, Mark was going to give him a nice, slow cut with the special knife he’d packed away. He’d start where the marks could be hidden and work his way up to that pretty face. And if Eddie still insisted on spacing out, well—he just might have to resort to puncturing instead of cutting and work his way up from there. 

Eddie was going to _stay with him_ in every way possible. He was going to feel _everything._

Mark had found one of the seediest locksmiths in all of New York City to let him into Eddie’s apartment when the time came. The man spoke hardly eight words of English and accepted two hundred dollars cash for cracking the lock to the apartment that Mark could not prove he resided in. No paper trail, no cameras. All they had to do was wait for another tenant to go in the front door and catch it before it closed and locked them out of the building. Sometimes it could be a challenge with stuffy busybodies wanting to “do the right thing” and uphold the building’s security policy. Tonight, though, he got in with the locksmith on the second try when a nice old woman held the door open for them when she saw them coming up the steps. 

It took less than two minutes for the man to get the door open, though he broke the fucking lock in the process. Eddie would notice, but Mark had a plan for that, too. If it sounded like he realized his key just spun in the lock, Mark would throw the door open, grab him, and yank him in before he could scream. 

He broke into the apartment at four o’clock, but it wasn’t until close to nine that he finally heard Eddie coming home. In that time to himself, he had tried multiple times to call Eddie and give him another chance. All Eddie had to do was pick up and say he was sorry. All he had to do was admit that he was wrong and Mark had been in the right. Then none of this would even have to happen. He’d get his punishment, he’d get a fucking, and they’d go to bed and he could wake up and make one of his damned, disgusting smoothies and go to work. Business as usual.

All he had to do was say _sorry,_ and cut things off with that other man. Mark would sit at his side while Eddie called him and broke it off. And, if he didn’t, well—the black bag and all its goodies could still come into play. Mark wasn’t in the habit of carrying around extra weight he didn’t intend to use.

But Eddie never answered—not his calls and not his texts. And, when he appeared in the hallway outside of his apartment, it was all too clear that it wasn’t going to be easy. 

He was talking to someone else and Mark felt his heart begin to pound as he waited around the corner of the entryway, his black bag open and waiting. He already had a strip of duct tape on the counter, ready to be grabbed and a bundle of zipties in his front pocket. By the sounds of it, he was going to have to attack more than one person...and that he was _not_ prepared for.

Variables were forming outside of his control and it stoked the fire of rage in his chest even more. He was the _master._ He was supposed to be in control!

He listened to the sound of Eddie’s key in the lock, realizing that there were pauses in his speech with no other voice accompanying it. 

Just on the phone then. Not unusual, though it didn’t sound like it pertained to business. No, he sounded nervous and over-eager—the way he sometimes did when he would call Mark to complain about his day at work.

That’s what he was doing now, with that other man. 

Mark knew in the instant that the damaged lock didn’t catch Eddie’s attention, the instant the door started to open and Eddie was inside, that he was going to kill him. No amount of apologies was going to make up for what he had done—what he was in the process of doing.

Eddie was _Mark’s_ slave. He didn’t get to go talking to other men right in front of him!

“Yeah—Yeah, I just got in. Think… I think I might do a casserole tonight, actually. My potatoes will go bad soon if I don’t.” He had clipped on the light to his entry way and was toeing off his shoes. His back was to Mark who slowly ducked back out of sight, moving further back into the kitchen where he wouldn’t be seen until Eddie was far enough away from the door.

“Yeah… No. I’m okay. It was weird though. Felt like my lock broke when I used my key… Yeah. I’m going have to go so I can call maintenance—no! No, they have a twenty-four hour line. Thank God, right?” He was plodding toward the kitchen and Mark was poised, waiting with his hand on the strip of duct tape, ready to rip it free from the edge of the counter where it was stuck. He’d grab Eddie and slap the tape over his mouth to keep it shut for the time being until he could get Eddie bound and swap it out for the gag. “Yeah. No, I know. I know, look, I’m going to get off of here now and call—oh, shit.”

Eddie had turned on the light just as he rounded the corner into the kitchen and froze, his big eyes going wide in horror as his whole body went stiff as a board upon seeing Mark there waiting for him.

 _“Eddie? What’s wrong? Are you okay!?”_ Came the voice from the other end of the line. Hearing it, hearing the voice of the man Eddie was fucking behind his back for who even knew how long, sent a jolt of jealous rage through Mark’s whole body.

He didn’t know how it happened, but what ended up in his hand was not the duct tape he thought he’d been holding, but the handle of a knife from the wooden knifeblock on Eddie’s immaculate counter top. The blade was long and thick, perfect for chopping up the potatoes Eddie had been going on about—and perfect for cutting his fucking cheating neck.

“Ben!? Ben, you have to help me! Help me!” Eddie was stumbling backwards, tripping over his own feet as his cell phone fell from his hand and shattered on the floor. Even then, Mark could hear that other man’s voice calling Eddie’s name.

Ben!? The person he’d been fucking was his so called “best friend” this whole time!? The whole time they’d been together!? 

Mark didn’t even speak he was so angry, or—if he did—he didn’t remember what he said. He raised the knife and surged it downward, aiming for Eddie’s face and striking his hands instead.

“Mark, don’t! Please! _Please,_ don’t do this! Please!” Eddie was trying to back towards the door and Mark just couldn’t allow that. 

When Eddie moved, Mark moved with him, swinging down the blade again and again—each blow to Eddie’s hands and his arms feeling like due penance. Stabbing through his suit and cutting his flesh, punishment for the dungeon. Slicing his palm from pointer-finger to wrist, for every time he’d ever floated off to subspace like a moron. 

At some point, Ben’s screaming from the cell phone on the floor had ceased, but the blows Mark reigned down on Eddie counted for every time Mark had ever been forced to sit in that man’s presence. 

He caught Eddie in the face, and the scream he let out was like music. Why had Mark ever even thought to bring a gag when Eddie could make sounds like _that?_ If his limits weren’t as fucking restrictive as his diet, he would’ve known of these beautiful sounds long ago! He could’ve relished in them. They would’ve made him _love_ his slave.

Why couldn’t Eddie just be _good?_ Just be good!

“Be good!” Mark found himself screaming. “Be good! Be good!”

“I am! I am! Please, Mark! Please stop it! Please! Mark—Mark, please! I’ll be good! I’ll be so good, I swear!” Eddie was sobbing frantically, choking for air. It was beautiful just to watch it. 

Eddie was no longer anywhere near the door, and was now almost backed against the arm of his couch across the way from the island bar in his kitchen. He had his injured, bloody hands held out in front him as he backed slowly away. His beautiful eyes were so full of _real_ fear. How long had Mark been waiting just to get a taste of that from Eddie? Just a little touch of _real_ fear and respect?

“I’m giving you one chance,” Mark said, as firmly as he could over Eddie’s shaky, choked pleas for mercy. His safeword even slipped out, like he thought this was some game—like he thought crying out some silly, meaningless little word was going to save him from the world of hurt he’d signed up for the day he agreed to be Mark’s slave. “You answer me—how many times have you fucked him behind my back?”

“Never! Never—Never! It’s only been you! Please! Mark, don’t!” 

Eddie screamed, a sound of pure, mortal terror. It sent a shudder of pleasure down Mark’s spine and was forever to be stored in the back of his mind, replaying for all eternity. The greatest song ever written—and Mark had heard a _lot_ of music. 

Mark plunged the knife forward right between Eddie’s hands where he had them held up as if to push Mark away. He put all of his force into it, his hand squeezing the hot, solid handle of the knife as he shoved it right into the center of Eddie’s chest. 

In place of the scream he craved, Eddie let out a breath like he’d been punched and the next thing Mark knew was that his hand felt as if it were on fire. His hand had slid up the blade almost all the way to press against Eddie’s chest. He released his death-grip on the knife as quickly as he could, but it was still too late. His fingers didn’t respond when he tried to curl his fist again. He could hear his own blood dripping on the floor and spattering as he shook his hand and screamed. 

Eddie was letting out moans of pain and there was a dull thunk as the knife that was meant to stay buried in his cheating, worthless heart dropped onto the floor. Eddie collapsed back onto the couch, as good as dead. 

With the amount of blood he was losing, Mark was afraid he’d be left to join him. He felt fear take the place of his wrath. _Terror._

 _He_ wasn’t supposed to die here! He couldn’t die _here!_

Mark stumbled for the door, pausing only to take Eddie’s kitchen towel and wrap it around his burning hand. 

Leaving the door still open, Mark fled. This wasn’t part of the plan...

( ) ( ) ( )

Eddie lay awake, staring at the shadowy silhouette of the body pillow beside him. His heart was pounding in his chest, racing twice as fast as his whirling thoughts. He couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t been able to sleep well since Richie went back to LA, and now sleeping at all felt impossible. He’d gotten the most rest he’d had in weeks the night after the assault while still high on the medications he’d been given at the hospital. That was only three nights ago, and to Eddie, it felt like he would never sleep again.

Any time he tried, he just felt gripped with panic and fear. Even when he took his typical medications—and even his extra “Chill Pill”—he felt no better, just hazier. He could feel that he was afraid, but almost felt disconnected from why. 

Logically, it made no sense to him. He was afraid of Mark, but Mark was behind bars. Mark was locked away and couldn’t possibly get to him again, and couldn’t possibly find him if he did. He was staying at Ben’s place, and Mark had no clue where that was and no way of finding out. 

Mark was behind fucking bars! Sleep! Just fucking please, God, please fucking sleep. 

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and tried to rationalize with himself, tried pleading with himself. 

Sleep. Just sleep, sleep, sleep. Just for a _little bit._

He hadn’t been able to work since the assault and knew he couldn’t even try if he didn’t get at least, at the barest of minimums, five hours of rest. _Actual_ rest. Eddie guessed he could just kiss that promotion he’d been gunning for goodbye. Time off because he was sick, now time off because he was injured… He was about as good as the new hires who announced sudden, non-negotiable PTO their second week of training—and twice as annoying.

His boss had even asked him to stop sending in documentation of his injuries. 

_We believe you, Kaspbrak. Please just focus on getting better for now. Work from home when you’re ready and come back when you can. It’s NOT URGENT that you’re here. Sometimes I think you forget you’re not the CFO._

That email left Eddie so disheartened and angry with himself. His boss may as well have said he wasn’t a valuable employee at all now. They didn’t need him at the office. He wasn’t _needed_ by anyone. Eddie didn’t know what to do with himself when he wasn’t pleasing someone else—when he wasn’t being of use in some way.

Mark had turned him into this great, heavy, _ugly_ burden and Eddie didn’t know what to do with himself. 

He just needed to go back to working. He needed to get back into the office and prove his worth. 

Tomorrow was Friday—well, today, Eddie guessed. It was already past three a.m. How long had he been staring at that fucking pillow!?

Maybe this weekend he could get himself to relax enough to sleep.

He had an appointment with his analyst on Monday—the soonest she could get him in—and he prayed that she would be able to prescribe him something. Anything. He needed anything he could take to sleep, to feel calm. 

To feel _safe._

Sometimes, it felt like he was back on the floor at the club—crawling around in the sticky filth having an asthma attack with no inhaler and no one around to bring it to him. Sometimes, he felt like he was standing in front of his apartment door, just about to go inside while alarm bells sang in the back of his mind.

All day. Every day. Non-stop terror. He always felt on edge, like an attack was coming—like the sky was going to come crumbling down on top of him. 

But Mark was in _jail._ Mark was going to _stay in jail_ because there wasn’t a single person he knew willing to pay his one hundred thousand dollar bail bond. Eddie was so thankful it was set that high—even if he couldn’t feel the relief. 

He was charged with attempted murder, premeditated. He had apparently texted one of his other friends (Tommy, another Dom who Eddie didn’t care for at all and never had) saying he was about to do something bad, and if he didn’t hear from him soon, to call his mother and let her know he loved her. It made it sound like he didn’t expect to come out of it alive. 

Murder suicide maybe? Could Eddie really have meant that much to Mark? He could see Mark being angry and crazy enough to kill _him,_ but not to turn the knife on himself. But then again...Eddie was slowly becoming aware that he never really knew Mark at all. 

He’d thought Mark loved him. He was _confident_ that Mark loved him and that Mark could be trusted—that he was a good, caring Dom who only wanted the best, most obedient and self-sufficient submissive. But, just as Eddie had learned he himself was none of those things, he was seeing that Mark wasn’t either.

Lies. So many wasted years of lies. He’d trusted Mark with so much of himself… Now it was all thrown back in his face. 

Eddie found himself blinking back tears, hating himself for still being affected like this. Sure, yeah, it was probably normal, but… Eddie held himself to a higher standard than just _normal._

Behind him on the nightstand, Eddie heard his phone give a gentle pulse.

Richie. He knew right away. It was three-forty in the morning. Richie must’ve been going to bed early. Usually his “good morning” (aka “I’m going to bed now”) text came through between four and five.

Eddie rolled over and grabbed his phone, unplugging it and checking the message.

Richie: _Good morning! Hope you’re feeling OK._

Eddie stared at the message until his screen went black, then lit it back up and typed in his passcode so he could send a message back. He never answered these messages when they came in, even if he was awake and read them. It felt...like an invasion for Richie to know he wasn’t sleeping. He didn’t really know why he saw it that way, but a lot of things had started to feel like an invasion of his privacy lately—ever since he’d first arrived at his apartment and found out there was another person already inside waiting for him.

_Can’t sleep._

Richie: _Oh no! You need herbal tea. Peppermint sleepy tea!_

_I think I’m past the point where tea is going to help._

Eddie stared at his message a moment, then found himself typing more while half his brain screamed at him to knock it off—that he was causing himself more problems by trying to distract himself with Richie’s company.

_I’d take it if you wanna bring me a cup though. Not a big mint fan though._

Richie: _Google says Chamomile and lavender are good too! But Google also says Cham messes with asthma??_

Eddie felt a small huff of a laugh escape his throat, so unexpected that it made him flinch—startling himself with a noise he himself had made. He’d become a fucking wreck…

_It’s never bothered me. But thanks for the heads up._

Richie: _Well alright then! Chamomile and lavender it is. Gonna take a few hours to get it there though._

_What are you ordering it for me? Because I’m not at home to get your DoorDash or whatever._

Richie: _That does put a damper on things. Might take longer then. Gonna have to knock on every door in NYC til I find yours._

_Tea’s going to be cold and bitter by that point. Raincheck for next month._

It took so long for Richie to reply that Eddie felt the man had probably fallen asleep. He didn’t know why the thought made his spirits sink. It was good that at least one of them got some rest. But then, just as Eddie was about to roll over and put his phone back on the table, a text came through.

Richie: _You can tell me to fuck off (which is totes acceptable) but tomorrow is Friday and I’m free this weekend. Could I maybe come see you?_  
Richie: _I know it’s crazy. I’m just worried. Tbh I’ve kind of had a lot of trouble sleeping too. I keep thinking about it. I know I have no room to talk. It didn’t even happen to me. But that’s SCARY._  
Richie: _I could put some goop on your chest for you. Make sure you don’t get infected._  
Richie: _I’d probably stay to Bev’s. I wouldn’t be all in your bubble all the time._  
Richie: _Like I said. Fuck OFF is an acceptable answer!_

Eddie stared at his phone, not even sure what to say in response to the paragraph of messages that Richie had sent. His heart was pounding again, and Eddie didn’t know if it was fear or excitement. Richie wanted to come see him? Was that a good idea? It _wasn’t,_ but maybe it would help Eddie get back to normal… He wouldn’t mind staying at his own place if there was just someone else there. Ben had gone and cleaned it up for him and it’d be nice to actually go and appreciate the work he did firsthand. Maybe having Richie there a couple of nights would acclimate him to it. He’d probably sleep better, too. 

And if he got sleep, he could go to work.

Eddie found himself justifying his impulse and combating the voice in his head that told him, “No, not this soon. The guy is _crazy,”_ by saying it was what he might need to get back to work. 

_You really want to waste all that money to fly out here for two days?_

Richie: _Uh……… Is that a real question?_

Touche. 

_If you want to I guess that’s fine. I’m not all that exciting._

Richie: _I have known you less than a month and you’ve almost died on me like twice. If that’s not exciting I’m scared to see the climax._  
Richie: _I didn’t mean for that to come out like that._  
Richie: _Fuck! Making it worse._  
Richie: _I’M JUST TRYING TO SAY YOU’RE NOT BORING/A BOTHER/WHATEVER. GAH!_

Eddie laughed again, another tired huff, and shook his head back and forth against the pillow. 

_Wow. You’re making me regret this already and you’re not even here._

Richie: _Damn. I’m going to stop while I’m ahead then. Lavender chamomile. Anything else his highness desires?_

_Vegan chocolate truffles, the #11 wrap from Heritage Cafe, and some opiates. Lots of opiates._

Richie: _Alexa Voice: Adding Poppies to Cart._  
Richie: _It’s more charming in person I swear._

_I know you and I can attest that it is not._

Richie: _I am devastated. Canceling my ticket!_

_As you should!_

Richie: _Damn… No refunds or exchanges. You’re stuck with me._

_Wow. Shitty airline._

Richie: _Bought tickets with my points. You’re stuck with me._

Eddie felt his heart stutter in his chest. He already bought the tickets? In the time that they were talking, fifteen minutes at most, he’d bought his tickets to fly out to New York without missing a beat to text back?

_You already bought them??_

Richie: _Uhhhhh………._  
Richie: _Is that a real question?_

_Yes…..._

Richie: _Uhhhh……. I bought them Wednesday morning._

_What the fuck were you going to do if I said no? Come barging in anyway?_

Richie: _No. I’d hang with Bev. And make her use Ben to spy on you. And probably talk Ben into taking you tea or something. I wouldn’t bug you if you didn’t let me. I’m not THAT kind of asshole._

It was probably stupid and naive, but Eddie believed him. Richie had been nothing but kind to him, and supportive and gentle. Eddie honestly missed the way Richie had cared for him, never once taking advantage of him even though he was delirious with fever most of the time they were together. Even the night Eddie got drunk, Richie didn’t make a move except...except to return the kiss.

_You just want to rub goop on my chest._

Richie: _I do really wanna rub goop on your chest. Can do a little Vicks Vapo Rub roleplay only goop and it doesn’t end up in anyone’s ass._  
Richie: _At least...I hope. I don’t even wanna know what antibiotic goop does to someone’s ass._

_Do you really go around putting Vicks up people’s asses?_

Richie: _Up people’s? No. Dogs and cats only._  
Richie: _JK! That’s gross. And weird. Sorry. Sleep deprived. People’s. Yes._

_Ew. Why?_

Richie: _Have you NEVER!??!!?_

Eddie scoffed at that. He didn’t know if this was a continuation of a joke or if the man was serious. His mind was now spinning around why someone would do that and for what purpose. The smell bothered him to the extent that he hadn’t used the stuff since he was a kid and his mother _made_ him. It had no medicinal value. It was just a fuckton of menthol oil and—oh…

 _Oh!_ Eddie found himself thinking. Oh… Oh, that was why people might… Oh, wow. Mark had never thought to do _that._ That might actually be… _Interesting?_

Richie: _OMG you’ve never? I have tainted your poor virgin eyes. Look away!_

They texted for nearly an hour before Eddie found himself nodding off and they said their goodbyes. He didn’t realize it until the following morning, but his heart had stopped pounding and his thoughts had ceased their seemingly endless whirlwind. Eddie slept, and for the first time since the assault, he dreamt of something simple. He dreamt about tea.

( ) ( ) ( )

Richie’s first thought upon entering Ben’s _house—_ okay, third or forth thought, because shit did Ben have a nice house—was that Eddie had told him about his hands and his chest being fucked up, not his face. And yet, there he stood just a few paces behind Ben with a rectangular piece of gauze over his cheek and bandages suitable for an Egyptian mummy wrapped around his hands.

He looked so small and meek standing there, and probably because he’d lost maybe ten pounds since the last time Richie had seen him. His face looked sunken in, and the big white rectangle taped to his cheek didn’t help. 

“Shit. Somebody call the Smithsonian. One of their mummies escaped,” Richie said, trying not to actively frown as he balanced the paper bag he had on his forearm (jostling the other two bags he had hanging off his wrist) in order to un-wedge Eddie’s special tea from the foam carrier that held his and Ben’s teas. 

“Yeah, good to see you, too, asshole,” Eddie said, though he graciously accepted the cup of tea and unstoppered it to sniff at the steam which rose immediately from the spout. 

“I think… Yeah, this one is yours,” he said, passing the marked cup off to Ben who accepted it with a smile after closing and locking the door. “I also got this for you,” Richie said, looking to Eddie and shaking the paper bag. 

Eddie took it from him and peered inside while Ben took the empty foam carrier to throw it away after Richie freed his own tea. He wasn’t much for tea, but Cinnamon Danish Dessert Tea sounded too good to pass up. 

“What, did you rob the whole store? Dude!” Eddie looked back up at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging agape. There were six or seven glass jars of loose leaf tea mixes in the bag, with special hand-made labels for each blend—including the “Special Blend” that the shop owner mixed up for Richie when he told her why he was in town and why her shop of all the tea houses in NYC caught his attention. 

“All organic, no pesticides, no gluten or soy or nuts. All safe!” Richie said, smiling even as Eddie rolled his eyes. Because he would. After all, what place did any of those things have in a cup of tea? “And we can’t forget—I got you these,” Richie said, handing off the other two bags which Eddie accepted after carefully setting the other bag down on the floor. 

“My truffles! You really got them?” Eddie was starting to look a bit like a kid on Christmas, like he didn’t expected Richie to actually follow through with his flight plans let alone the rest of his promises.

“The truffles and the number eleven wrap you wanted. But I have a sandwich in there too. So sorry to Ben, but I didn’t want to hold up the line.” 

Eddie showed him into Ben’s kitchen where the man was already standing, adding a dollop of honey to his tea. 

One by one, Eddie set out the glass jars of loose leaf tea and read their labels. The front of the paper tag held the shop’s name for each blend and the back showing the ingredients and “flavor profile.” 

“Uh… Eddie Tea?” Eddie asked, eyeing Richie with a lopsided smile that looked like it hurt his cheek.

“Yeah. Made with real Eddies.” Richie nodded his head, not missing how Ben rolled his eyes or the tiny laugh Eddie let out before he focused on the ingredients on the back. It was Lavender Earl Grey, like what Richie had brought him at the hotel, but with rose and vanilla, too—along with some bits of dried fruit that would make the tea brew purple that the woman swore wouldn’t impact the taste. Richie was a sucker for fun colors and when he’d made the off hand comment about it to the shopkeeper, she’d said that wouldn’t be an issue to add. 

He felt like he was living in some weird video game side quest and he kind of really loved it. You know, when he didn’t dote on the reason why he was in New York in the first place. It was certainly a lot more fun to pretend he was just on a courtship side quest in his game of Life—finding the perfect tea to complete the mating ritual with His Royal Highness. 

Once he was done checking out the teas, Ben looked them over while Eddie ripped into the box of vegan truffles and stuffed two into his mouth at once. He looked so happy with them and Richie felt this curious little tug in his chest that made him want to walk over to him and put an arm around him—even though he knew better than to even consider it. 

Eddie plated up Richie’s sandwich and his wrap, then gestured for Richie follow him out to the back patio and deck. Almost immediately, a huge dog started running toward them—a big, hairy shepherd dog that was more interested in Richie’s sandwich than Richie. 

“That’s Bruno. He’s a baby. Aren’t you? _Aren’t you?”_ Hearing Eddie babytalk the dog shouldn’t have little hearts spinning around Richie’s head, and yet there they were as he sat down at the patio table with his wrap and his tea across from Eddie. “Don’t give him any scraps though.”

“What, Ben doesn’t let him have people food?”

“He sleeps in my room and his gas is bad enough without it,” Eddie said, quite matter-of-factly as he unwrapped his food and made a neat little fold with the paper wedged beneath the wrap on his plate. 

“I’ll resist for now, but only because you don’t look like you could survive chemical warfare right now. How are you feeling?” Richie asked him, studying Eddie’s face as the man gawked at the food he had. 

Richie wondered how often Mark brought Eddie food to cheer him up...food he could actually eat that wouldn’t make him ill. How often did Mark ever do _anything_ to make Eddie happy while they were together?

“I’m… I’m okay. Still...Still just getting used to everything, I guess. I… I just wish I could sleep. If I could sleep, I could work, you know?”

“You don’t need to be worried about work. If they’re putting pressure on you—”

“They’re _not._ That’s the problem. It’s like it doesn’t matter if I’m even there or not. I’m going to end up losing my job over this—”

“No you’re not! You’re, like, a hot shot in the company. They’d be stupid to fire you. Don’t worry about that. You have to focus on getting better before you can focus on work. Jobs come and go, but you stick around. Alright? If they can’t appreciate you enough to keep you on after all this, then fuck ‘em. You can do better. Plenty of places would be happy to have you.”

“I hope so,” Eddie said, sounding like he’d had enough of the topic already as he picked up his wrap and took a bite. He moaned for it, too, like it was the best bite of food he’d had in his life.

They ate mostly in silence while Bruno laid with his head on Eddie’s foot and his eyes glued to Richie’s hands—hoping this kind stranger would drop a bite of food for him.

No, dice, buddy. Richie wasn’t about to share a bed with Eddie and have the night ruined with noxious dog farts. Try again with someone else.

And, yeah, it was a bit brash to assume he was going to be invited to sleep over, but he was fairly certain that was the only reason Eddie wanted him there at all. Richie took care of him. Eddie knew that, and right now he _needed_ it. He needed a little TLC and someone to bring him his tea in bed and put antibiotic goop on his wounds and tell him they were looking better and better each day. Richie would be damned if Ben was going to do it. 

After they ate, the two of them sipped at their tea while Eddie slowly opened up about what happened the night he was attacked. Parts of it had become hazy, he said, like he was slowly starting to block it all out. He’d had to type out everything he could remember after giving his statement to the police, afraid he’d forget something crucial—afraid that he’d mistake the time or the order of events and be accused of lying in court. He reread the details sometimes and realized he didn’t remember some of the things happening. He didn’t remember getting cut across the cheek. He didn’t realize he’d ended up in his living room when Mark stabbed him, remembering it now as him still being in the foyer. 

There wasn’t a set court date yet and that left Eddie more stressed than anything, it seemed, since he didn’t want to miss any more work than he had to. He was so worried about his job… Workaholic, maybe? Or perhaps he used it as his distraction from Mark and all that had transpired.

“I really do...appreciate you coming out here for me. It means a lot. It really, really means a lot. I don’t have a lot of friends, so… So, yeah. It...it means a lot to me that you’re doing this.”

“Well, maybe with Mark out of the picture you can start making some friends. He seemed like he kept you beaten down. Maybe now’s your chance to rise up—meet some new people, start a new life.”

“New life? What? Quit my job, join the circus?” Eddie asked, smiling at him tiredly and laughing just a little. He looked like he desperately, desperately needed sleep—and the special sleepy tea that the tea house had brewed him looked like it was doing the trick.

“Maybe. Quit your job, buy a beat up old car, drive to LA and hang out at the beach with a real loser. I don’t have a guestroom, but I guess you can have the couch.”

“Yeah, and what would your roommate think of that?” Eddie asked.

“Roommate? I don’t have a roommate.”

“What? I thought all you Californians needed a roommate to survive. Cost of living is through the roof out there unless you’re… Well, yeah, I did see your suit, didn’t I?” Eddie chuckled again and ran his bandaged fingers through his hair.

“Yeah. My apartment’s not much, but it’s mine. Well, I rent it. But it’s mine. Just a little one room place right now. I keep saying I’m going to take the plunge and buy something, but none of the places I look at stick out. Plus mine has an in unit washer and dryer. They broke my first week in there and they gave me brand new ones. Then a new fridge. It was nice. And the view is great. I’ll have to send you a picture of it. My mom always liked it… She says it’s like a movie set. I got some good pictures of her on the balcony. Real tasteful nudity shit, you know.”

“Gross,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes before letting out a long yawn and scrubbing at his eyes.

“Do you want to take a nap for a bit? You look like you’re going to keel over, over there.”

“Fuck, probably wouldn’t hurt,” Eddie said, sniffing a bit as his eyes watered with want of sleep.

“Well, with me, a fuck just might. But that’s ‘cause I got a big—you know what, never mind. Bad timing. Bad timing.”

“Whatever. I want more truffles, and then...then, yeah. I think I want to sleep for a bit. Sorry if that’s rude or whatever. You came all this way, but...”

“Dude, I literally drugged you with opiates in your tea. Don’t you remember me saying to add poppies to the list?” He then put on his best impression of the Wicked Witch of the West and cackled out “Poppies will put him to sleep!”

“I wish that were true. My chest hurts like a bitch.” Eddie stood from the table and Richie collected their plates before he could reach them, not wanting him to carry more than he had to with his wounded hands—at least not until he saw how bad the damage was. Part of him was starting to imagine the worst—imagining fingers dangling by strips of skin and little else. He shuddered.

“Does it need goop though? I’m a master at applying goop.”

“Not yet. I’ll need it after I shower later.” He stood at the kitchen counter and ate about four more of the truffles with a smile on his face. He teased Bruno about not being allowed to have them, telling him about how dangerous they were in that precious babytalk voice before he scratched the dog behind the ears and started to leave the kitchen.

Richie was quick to follow him, as was Bruno, afraid he’d get lost in the giant house if they were separated. Eddie showed him to the living room where Ben was watching television while working on something in a sketchbook. He told Ben he was going upstairs for a while and to text him if he came up with dinner plans. 

Up two—two!!—flights of stairs and they were at the guestroom where Eddie was staying. It was decked out in white and gold with sheer curtains hanging over the picture window that showed a view of the whole back yard and the trees beyond. 

While Richie stared out the window and sent a few texts to Bev, Eddie was in the bathroom brushing his teeth and changing into more comfortable clothes. Richie hadn’t wanted to appear as presumptuous as he was and hadn’t brought any spare clothes with him, so he was left to lay at Eddie’s side in his stiff jeans and the t-shirt he wore under his gray and blue Hawaiian shirt—which he folded up and set on top of Eddie’s pile of clothes, just to get the man to glower at him. 

“Can you really sleep with this much sunlight?” Richie asked, staring at the bright white ceiling. There were blackout curtains that could easily be drawn across the window nestled on both sides of it in the corners of the room. 

“Well, I don’t do very well sleeping when it’s dark,” Eddie sighed. 

Ah, touche. 

“My bad,” Richie said, trying to get himself to relax. He was a little tired from his early morning flight, a little jet lagged, but not enough to really sleep. Eddie, though, was laying on his side, hugging on a body pillow with his back to him, already looking like he was dead asleep. 

“You can like...move closer you know,” Eddie said, not looking at him and with his voice muffled by the pillow.

“Yeah? You thinking like Arkansas or Connecticut closer?”

“What?” Eddie snapped, sounding irritated enough that Richie anticipated a “you know what, forget it” to follow.

“You know… Arkansas,” Richie said, shuffling so that he was laying on his side, facing Eddie’s back. “Or Connecticut.” He scooted closer, but not quite enough to touch. 

Eddie rolled over just enough to look at him and fix him with a tired, unamused stare, then flopped back against his body pillow.

“Oh, like New York, New York. Got it,” Richie said, moving to spoon up at Eddie’s back and praying to any god that would listen that Eddie couldn’t feel how fast it made his heart start to pound.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He was taking advantage. There was no way Eddie wanted to be this close. They never even spoke romance when they talked!

And yet, it felt natural. Richie was able to put an arm over him and to rest his hand against Eddie’s on the body pillow. A moment later, Bruno had jumped on the bed and—after doing a couple laps—circled up in the bend of Richie’s knees, locking him in place. 

It was only a while after that that Eddie’s breathing had evened out and he was sound asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a sucker for Richie taking care of Eddie and couldn't resist ending this on an impromptu snuggle, with added dog fur. Sorry for the generic ass dog name. I'm that person who will spend forty years on a dog name for no reason and didn't want to do that today. Thank you for reading and I hope you have enjoyed so far! More soon!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has somehow morphed into Eddie Drinks Tea! - The FanFic
> 
> I am not sorry.
> 
> Here is some smut. You all deserve tea, fluff, and smut. Enjoy.

It felt eerie being back in his apartment, even with Richie a step or two behind him. There was a new lock on his door and he’d had to pick up his key from his mailbox in the front lobby in order to get inside. Even though he’d seen it since his attack, Eddie still expected to see spatters of blood or the shoe prints from the cops and investigators. There had, at one time, been black powder all over everything from his doorknob to his kitchen counters from the investigators “checking for fingerprints” like they didn’t know who had stabbed him. Someone had to have let him into the apartment, they said, and they were trying to establish who. Another resident described a “little foreign man with a thin mustache and bald head” entering the building with Mark. They wanted to make sure this man hadn’t been hiding out in the apartment all along. 

Ben had come by and cleaned, though, mopping up blood and the black powder and dirt. It was so quiet and dim, and it felt so surreal being here now… Being here with Richie again. It didn’t _feel_ like Eddie’s home anymore. It just felt like a _place._ Like a _bad_ place.

Eddie already regretted this idea. What was the use of coming here? He didn’t feel safe here. He didn’t _want to be here._ Ben had more than enough room for him at his place. Surely it wouldn’t be too big a deal for him to be a burden just a few months longer, right?

“Well, for a crime scene it looks pretty tame. Where do you want me to put all the tea?” Richie asked, jostling around the bag that had all of Eddie’s new teas. He was also carrying Eddie’s luggage for him, but had dropped the heaviest of it near the doorway.

“You can just put them on the counter. Thanks,” Eddie said, swallowing hard as his eyes traced the floor. He kept expecting to see spatters of blood—seeing the streaks and smears of it where Mark had slipped as he tried to run from the apartment after realizing what he’d done… What he’d done to _himself,_ though. Not what he’d done to Eddie. 

Ben had been upset, or had seemed so at the very least, when Eddie told him of his spur of the moment decision to move back into his apartment with Richie’s help. 

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” He’d asked. “Don’t think you need to leave on my account, Eddie. I’d really rather you stay here with me so I know you’re okay.” Eddie had said he was fine and thanked Ben for all his trouble. Honestly, it was hard to leave—and not just because he was afraid of sleeping in his apartment by himself again. He would really miss Bruno’s snoring and his big paws pushing into the back of Eddie’s legs at night.

Richie set up the jars of tea all along the counter, taking care to put them in some special order that had significance to him—adjusting the labels so they all faced the same way like he was staging them for a photo shoot. While he was focused on the tea, Eddie slowly made his way back toward his bathroom, fist clutching tightly around the strap of his travel bag which carried all of his medications and toiletries. Eddie tried to keep his thoughts and heart from racing as he slowly put them all back on the shelves and in the drawers where they belonged.

This was _his_ apartment. Mark didn’t get to take _his apartment_ away from him, too. The man was behind bars, for Heaven’s sake. There was no reason to be so afraid here anymore. 

He was still fixated on putting his medications where they should go when he heard Richie hauling his bags into the bedroom. The man was humming and singing to himself, really just muttering syllables as opposed to actually singing, while he unzipped compartments and started unpacking for him. Eddie was torn for a moment between yelling at him to knock it off—that he was invading his privacy going through his suitcases like that—and just leaving the man alone. He was the one who asked Richie to help him… He was the one who agreed to have Richie come here.

He invited Richie out here because, deep down, he craved the way Richie took care of him. It would be counterproductive for him to ask Richie to stop now. 

When he’d finished unpacking his travel bag, Eddie joined Richie in the bedroom. The man had already placed Eddie’s dirty clothes into his laundry basket for him and was laying out the neatly folded stacks of pants and shirts and undergarments on the unmade bed. Eddie watched him a moment longer before grabbing the stacks and putting them in the drawers where they went and hanging up his shirts. 

They had napped most of the evening and it was now half-past ten. Eddie was still groggy and exhausted, but Richie seemed no worse for wear. Of course he wasn’t, Eddie thought. It was only a little after six Richie’s time… All Eddie wanted was to climb under his covers once all was put away and he had his luggage tucked back into his closet, but instead he found himself turning to Richie—warm, smiling Richie—and asking if he wanted to watch a movie. 

“Or...Or something,” Eddie tacked on when Richie started to look a little baffled by the offer. “I don’t know. Never mind.”

“No—No, I was just… I thought you looked like you needed some sleep, but a movie—yeah! Yeah, let’s watch something. Let’s get you some tea and watch a movie or something.” Richie was smiling at him nervously, then putting an arm around his shoulders so gently and carefully in order to lead him into his living room. 

Eddie couldn’t even attribute words to how he felt. Having Richie’s arm around him felt so intimate, even though they’d kissed—even though this virtual stranger had _literally_ seen every part of him. He felt safe, but he felt even more gnawing anxiety as they picked out a movie together and sat on the couch once the DVD was put in. They were just paces from where Eddie had been standing with the blade of a knife buried over an inch deep in his chest…

“Fuck! I didn’t put on the water for your tea. Pause it—pause it, pause it, pause it!” And, all at once, Richie’s arm wasn’t around his shoulders on the couch any more because the man was doing an awkward, hurried walk into the kitchen to fill up the electric kettle with water. 

“It’s just the previews,” Eddie said, hoping he sounded less agitated to Richie than he did to his own ears. He wasn’t angry, just tired and conflicted and irrationally afraid that he was going to be stabbed again. What if Richie just...snapped? What if he came here expecting to get laid for his efforts and Eddie told him no and Richie just…dumped boiling water on him or beat him or _stabbed him in the chest?_

“Okay. Okay, good. Uh—where’s your tea steeper? I see the one for the kettle thingy, but we don’t need a whole pot…” Richie was looking in the drawer with the spoons and forks and _knives._

“Cabinet. No… No—other cabinet. Other—by the fuckin’ tea that you already know about. C’mon… It’s right there. Yes, there!” Eddie felt his eye twitch as he watched Richie open and close every single wrong cabinet door in the entire kitchen before finding the proper one with his silver tea-steeping ball.

“Got it! My bad. Okay. What sounds good? Probably herbal, right?”

“Herbal, yeah. What were they again? Sorry, I read them just...” Eddie let his words trail off. It was just that there were like seven fucking jars of loose leaf tea on his counter and the only one memorable was “Eddie Tea” supposedly made with “Real Eddies.”

“Chamomile Ginger or…there’s this floral one I got you. Uh—vanilla, pear, and honeysuckle notes, it says…?” 

“That sounds good,” Eddie said, his eyes fixed on the man as he fumbled around to fill the kettle and turn it on, to fill the tea steeper without making a mess, to get the cup out with a little saucer and a folded paper towel underneath. Just watching him move around in the kitchen to prepare the cup of tea had Eddie wanting to cry. 

Richie was practically a stranger—a pen pal at most. Why was he more caring and considerate than Mark had _ever_ been? Eddie couldn’t piece it together. The man he loved had stabbed him repeatedly, left him disfigured and scarred and damaged, and the man he hardly knew was cleaning up the mess without asking for a single damned thing in return.

“I think I’m going to make myself some Eddie Tea after yours is done, okay? I only saw the one steeper.”

“Yeah, I only have the one,” Eddie answered, staring at the man in wonder. Richie asked if he wanted sugar or honey. Richie served him the tea with a kiss on the temple, then went back to the kitchen to clean out the steeper and pour the remaining hot water into his own cup. He was singing those little nonsense syllables again while he waited for it to steep, checking his phone like a kid afraid to be caught by his teacher, and then hurrying to clean out the steeper and get back to the couch as soon as it was time. For himself, he had no saucer or folded paper towel—just a steaming hot cup of Earl Grey. 

“Do you like yours? Did I put in enough honey?” Richie asked, getting himself comfortable on the couch with the hot cup of tea carefully balanced in his hands—trying not to burn his fingers. 

“It’s—It’s, yeah, it’s perfect,” Eddie stammered, somehow not expecting the question. He’d yet to take a sip, he realized, having spent all that time watching Richie move about the kitchen while simply holding the saucer and up near his face to drink in the steam. It smelled so pleasant, reminding him of spring in the country—in the woods and hills where he used to play when he’d had more friends than just Ben. Before his mother taught him about poisonous plants and insects and before his allergies had made him allergic to damned near everything except water. 

His first sip transported him back even further. He may as well have been laying in one of the grassy fields that would later break his skin out in hives. Eddie could almost feel the sunlight on his face and the gentle breeze wafting the smell of spring flowers and new growth all around him. It was the perfect level of sweetness without tasting of pure sugar, and the honey which was in it coated his throat the whole way down to warm his stomach. A perfect spring day in a cup… 

Eddie let out a sigh and allowed himself to rest his head against Richie’s shoulder after the man had pressed play so the movie could begin. Slowly, his heart rate started to drop and the panic that had been gripping him ever since he’d decided to leave Ben’s place had bled away. He felt so at ease. So safe…

Richie slurped his tea and rested his head against Eddie’s, an arm around Eddie’s shoulders again so that his thumb could gently caress his arm in slow, careful circles. Eddie savored his tea a little more gracefully than Richie, and managed to finish it long after Richie’s empty cup was set aside on the coffee table. Richie took the cup and saucer from him and set it down next to his cup, then pulled Eddie in a little closer to him—but did nothing more than that. He just held him…

Richie just held him and watched the movie, sometimes copying the voices perfectly if a particular line struck him as amusing. He didn’t make fun of Eddie for liking the film or owning it, didn’t call it stupid or point out the plot holes… He just watched the movie with an arm around Eddie’s shoulder after making him tea—after flying to New York and getting him tea and truffles and sandwich wraps. The feeling in Eddie’s chest was almost overwhelming, and he did all he could to watch the movie to the end without sniffling or breaking down crying. 

Mark, his partner of three years, had tried to murder him. A man he loved. A man he had _trusted_ with so much of himself… The thought played over and over again in his mind, tormenting him and taunting him—pleading with him to figure out what he’d done to cause Mark to snap the way he had.

And then there was Richie, doting on him and pushing for absolutely _nothing_ in return. A man Eddie hardly knew—a man who owed him nothing and gave him everything regardless. 

When the movie was over and Eddie was alone to get undressed and take his shower, he wept. He cried over what had happened, and over what was happening now. He looked over his scarred and stitched up hands and cried, touching his stitched up cheek and stitched up chest. He had scars on his back, on his bottom, on his thighs… He was a mess of scars and wounds. He had _been_ a mess of scars and wounds when Richie met him. How was he still around? 

And would he still be after Eddie came out of the bathroom and let the man “put goop” on his chest like he wanted to? Eddie didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he found himself desperately longing for the other man’s attention—for his kind words and gentle touch—as he climbed out of the tub where he’d sat himself down to cry. He patted himself dry and avoided his reflection in the mirror as he dressed in only a pair of boxer briefs and exited the bathroom with the jar of antibiotic “goop.”

“Oh, is that the goop!?” Richie said, looking sad and as if he were forcing his excitement as he straightened himself up from where he’d been leaning against the headboard of Eddie’s bed.

“Yeah, this is the stuff,” Eddie said, feeling like crying all over again. There was another steaming cup of tea on his nightstand with a saucer and folded paper towel. “You know, tea gives you kidney stones.”

“And Wi-Fi gives you cancer. C’mere. I’ve been waiting to rub goop on you for, like, a week now. I need my fix.” Richie was squirming around to make more room on the bed, moving the bandages Eddie had laid out out of the way. 

“I’m starting to think you and Mark were in cahoots or something. He gets off on _beating_ me up, and you get off on _cleaning_ me up.”

“First off, I don’t get off on it, Mr. K. And, secondly, I don’t want Mark anywhere near me—because if I see him, I’m going to fuckin’ prison next. That’s a fucking fact. Now lay down.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes but did as Richie instructed. His thoughts were splintering off in different directions as Richie eagerly, gently, started dabbing the antibiotic cream over the wound on his chest. His fingers were careful not to apply more pressure than necessary, careful not to push on or scrape against the stitches. 

Mark had told him he’d had a Dom at the club looking out for him that night… Was it possible it was Richie? Was Richie keeping it a secret from him because things hadn’t gone according to plan? Why else would he have been there? Why else would he have been so helpful and so nice? 

But Richie hadn’t shown any wickedness or cruelty… Richie wasn’t aggressive with him or nasty or harsh the way Mark and some of his friends had been in the past.

Richie was nice and sweet and kind… He wasn’t anything like a Dom. At least not anything like the Doms Eddie had encountered while with Mark or in any of the videos Mark showed him online. 

“Alright—do you need any goop on your hands? Oof, yeah. That one there looks kinda sore. No problemo, Mr. K. I’ll fix you up!” Richie had placed the bandage over Eddie’s chest, then started dabbing ointment and Vaseline on Eddie’s hands before bandaging them as well—careful not to make them too tight. “What about the face? Goop?”

“Yeah, probably for the best,” Eddie said, watching Richie’s eyes as the man carefully dabbed some of the ointment onto his cheek and placed the bandage over it. He didn’t look repulsed or disgusted or displeased. He didn’t look at Eddie like he was damaged goods that had lost all their value. He just looked...caring. Attentive. “I’ll tell you what, Eds. If this scars, you’re gonna look like the biggest bad ass in all of New York. I’m tellin’ ya. You’ve already got that mafia thing going for you and now you’ve taken it to the next level.”

Eddie couldn’t help but to laugh.

“Just don’t start calling me Scarface, okay? It’s a little soon for that. I’m hoping it heals and that—”

“Even if it scars, it’s not going to be bad. I can tell. Just grow in a little more five o’clock shadow and no one will know any different. Fuck, you’d be hot with a beard.”

“Yeah—and itchy.” Eddie rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself. 

“I think after all that surgery you deserve some tea,” Richie said, leaning over him to carefully grab the saucer and cup and hand it to Eddie. “I’m going to wash my hands and brush my teeth, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie answered, watching Richie move through his bedroom to grab his own small bag of toiletries which he took with him into the bathroom. 

Lemongrass, Eddie noted. Citrus and a faint hint of mint. No honey, though, but probably for the best since he’d already brushed his teeth. It soothed him, and kept him calm as he checked his phone and texted Ben a selfie of himself with the tea and fresh bandages in response to his “Are you sure you’re alright?” text message.

To his selfie, Ben replied, “Don’t let him keep you up too late. Text me in the morning.”

Eddie answered with little more than a thumbs up, ears perking up at the sound of the bathroom door handle. A few moments later and Eddie’s tea was gone and Richie was undressing in the dim light from the bedside lamp, his clothes sloppily folded and laid over top his small bag. Eddie shuddered to look at them. 

“I take it it’s okay for me to move a little closer, right?” Richie asked, already snuggling up at Eddie’s side while Eddie reached to turn off the bedside lamp. A moment later, he had to turn it back on to set Richie’s glasses somewhere safe and away from the empty cup that had once held tea.

“That’s fine,” Eddie said, nestling down in the blankets and squirming to get comfortable. He really did miss Bruno hogging the foot of the bed… Maybe when he moved he ought to get a dog. A big, scary dog that even Mark wouldn’t want to fuck with.

“Yeah? Pretty sure you’re fine.”

“Yeah, real fine looking like I went one on one with a chainsaw.”

“One on one with a chainsaw and _won,”_ Richie offered, pressing a kiss to the back of Eddie’s neck that he hadn’t been expecting. It made him stiffen, but so far the other man didn’t seem to notice. “I promise it’s not as bad as you think. And, on the bright side, you’ve only got a couple scars on your back. It’s literally impossible to tell what they’re from. You healed up really nice.”

“You think so?” Eddie said, chest clenching at the words. He could see the scars in the mirror—thick, dark brown lines speckled across his back. 

“Yeah. They’re still healing, but if I didn’t know, I wouldn’t suspect they were from kinky shit. If I were you, I’d tell people you fell off a ladder into some bushes or something. Literally, my hand to God, no one would ever know.”

It was reassuring, but part of Eddie’s mind still told him to doubt it. In his head, he could still see the infected wounds Mark had left him with. They would probably be festering there for the rest of his life…

“You know, stress works against healing. I wish you could take some time off work and come out to California… Get away for a bit. You can crash at my place, go lay on the beach all day, check out the organic grocery stores… I think you’d really like it.”

“It sounds nice,” Eddie said, knowing not to get his hopes up. He _had_ to go back to work soon. He just had to… He needed to make sure he was still of value to the company and that he wasn’t about to get termed for being a bad judge of character and dating a man who tried to kill him.

“It would be nice,” Richie said with a deep sigh. His arm had hooked itself over Eddie’s hip to pull him a little closer—his chest flush against Eddie’s back and his thighs pressed firmly against Eddie’s. “I could try to make you smoothies every day and fuck ‘em up. Make you tea… Bring you tea in bed.”

“You know, you sound a fuckton like a submissive. You know that?”

“What? Doms aren’t allowed to have a soft side? I’m a giver. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. In a sexy way and a tea-giving, goop-rubbing way. One day I’m gonna get the flu and you’ll fly out to Cali to feed me soup and we’ll be even.”

“The fuck I will! The flu is contagious! You can’t catch a stabbing!”

“No? But I can catch these hands, right?” Richie was laughing then and pawing gently at Eddie’s bandaged fingers. 

“What does that even _mean?”_ Eddie snapped, doubting the explanation Richie gave him and rolling his eyes as the man continued to cuddle and try to play with him while all Eddie wanted was to sleep—to enjoy Richie’s company and _sleep._ Sleep in his own bed in his own apartment where Mark was _never_ going to hurt him again.

Never. 

“You know...your proportions and stuff, like, your shape an’ all—”

“What about it?” Eddie grumbled, eyes squeezed shut as Richie’s voice called him back from the edge of sleep.

“I don’t know, it just... _fits._ You fit.” This was coupled by a gentle squeeze of Richie’s arm around Eddie’s waist, pulling his hips back closer as the man snuggled him. Richie’s face was nuzzling the curve of his neck, his arm hooked around him and gently holding his hand… 

He had a point. Yeah, they kind of just...fit. 

Eddie sighed and scooted back just a little more so their legs were touching. Slowly, bit by bit, one of Richie’s ankles was hooked over his own, anchoring him to the bed—secure and safe. Eddie felt Richie’s weight all around him, holding him secure and close. 

He felt so safe… 

_Safe._

( ) ( ) ( )

Falling asleep when he was absolutely wired on caffeine and it was barely even nine o’clock his time was next to impossible, but Richie did his best to lay absolutely still and let Eddie rest. The poor man was exhausted, still groggy even after their nap at Ben’s place. He was asleep almost as soon as Richie stopped talking to him and trying to find more ways to take advantage of how close they were laying to each other. He was holding Eddie’s hand, holding his foot between both of his own feet, and had his face buried in between Eddie’s shoulder blades. Their hips were snug together, his chest was flush with Eddie’s back. 

It wasn’t a lie—they really did _fit_ together. Eddie’s body was just long enough, his limbs bending and folding in all the right places to make cuddling simple and cozy rather than awkward and forced. Richie had dated guys who were nearly impossible to snuggle, just because their proportions were so different. With Eddie, it was as if there were unlimited possibilities for cuddling up together. 

Richie couldn’t help himself but to cling as close as he could. He couldn’t stand the thought of catching his flight the following evening. He wanted to stay here—he wanted to stay in Eddie’s bed with him and rub goop on his chest and make sure he was able to sleep.

This poor man… Richie couldn’t even begin to imagine how awful Eddie must feel. He’d been distraught enough after the incident at the club, but for _this_ to have happened… To have been assaulted and abandoned, terrorized and stalked, and then nearly _killed?_ God, Richie couldn’t even _fathom_ how horrible Eddie must feel. 

Richie himself just felt lucky that Eddie even still wanted to associate with him after all of this. There was no way he hadn’t become attached in Eddie’s mind to all of those bad memories. Hopefully he could be seen as a good memory, though. He brought tea and compassion and _care._ It’d be a miracle if Eddie didn’t wake up one day and decide to cut him off, but Richie hoped and prayed that he wouldn’t. He would bring Eddie all the tea he wanted—or mail it to him if their schedules couldn’t match up again. He would rub antibiotic goop on him or change his bandages or anything Eddie wanted… He’d do _anything._ Richie just hoped Eddie saw that and understood that he wasn’t just doing it in hopes of getting something in return. Sex in particular. Yeah, the thought was great, but not right now… Having Eddie pressed up this close to him wasn’t even stirring any arousal and that said a lot considering how many times Richie had cranked one out to thoughts of Eddie since they’d met—feeling more guilty and ashamed of himself each time. 

It wasn’t until maybe four or five in the morning that Richie finally dozed off completely, having been pulled away from the edge of sleep a time or two by Eddie flinching or jerking in this sleep. He dreamt he was at Ben’s, searching the house high and low with Bruno barking at him louder and louder while pulling at his pant leg. It was dark and the hallways grew longer and longer the further down them he went. He was trying to find Eddie, sometimes able to hear him calling out for help. 

Richie snapped awake after opening a door in the dream that took him out to the patio. Something in his head told him Eddie was dead on the other side of the door and he flinched so hard that it woke up the real Eddie who whined groggily and shuffled around to lay on his back. 

“Morning,” he slurred, sounding out of it and weary. 

“Morning,” Richie murmured back, readjusting to sling his arm across Eddie’s chest while pressing a kiss to his shoulder. 

Eddie said something that sounded an awful lot like “What do you want to do today?” but also a whole awful lot like nothing at all, and Richie’s reply was to keep kissing his shoulder. 

“Mmn. It’s eight o’clock,” Eddie whined. 

“Yeah? You late for work?” Richie asked, voice rough with sleep. 

“Mm-mmn.” Eddie squirmed out of Richie’s grasp and got up, plodding off to the bathroom. Richie took the chance to put on his glasses and check his phone which was close to dying. He hadn’t thought to plug it in the night before… Once Eddie was back from the bathroom, carrying something in his hands which were no longer bandaged, it was Richie’s turn to get up to go. “Brush your teeth, okay?” Eddie said, voice sounding like a sigh as he shuffled back under his covers and pulled the pillow over his head like a melodramatic teenager that didn’t want to get up for school. Whatever had been in his hand was gone, leading Richie to think it was a dirty tissue that he’d thrown away in the bedside transh can.

Richie went pee and washed his hands, counting the seconds because he was pretty sure Eddie listened in, then brushed his teeth as he’d been told. He imagined his morning breath had to have been pretty bad for the first coherent thing Eddie had said to him all morning was an order to brush his teeth. 

With his teeth brushed and his mouth rinsed of the overpowering flavor of toothpaste, Richie shuffled back to the bed and snuggled up at Eddie’s side under the blankets. Eddie still had his head under the pillow, but he let Richie move it a little to expose a little more of his face—Eddie’s lips twitching to a smile as he did.

“You need some blackout curtains in here,” Richie said, keeping his voice low in case Eddie was trying to go back to sleep. 

“Would be nice...” Eddie let out a soft sigh, then pulled himself out from under the pillow in order to cuddle closer, his head ending up on Richie’s chest. “Morning,” he said, as though he hadn’t once already.

“Good morning,” Richie said, his heart rate picking up as he felt Eddie’s lips brush against his neck. They’d kissed before, drunkenly in Beverly’s spare room while she was getting laid, but Richie wasn’t dumb enough to think that counted for anything. Eddie had been drunk and a mess, but now… 

There was no mistaking the soft press of Eddie’s lips against his neck, against the curve of his throat, against his chin. 

Eddie was propping himself up just enough to be able to look down at Richie’s face, that same sorrow and longing in his eyes that he’d had that night at Beverly’s. Richie was about to open his mouth and say something stupid like “If you take a picture, it’ll last longer,” but Eddie’s fingers slowly started twirling around locks of his hair and caressing his scalp—sending little shivers of pleasure down Richie’s spine. It’d been a minute since anyone had really touched him with any sort of affection let alone the sort of lazy, early morning caresses Eddie was giving him now as he continued looking down at him. 

For once, Richie kept his mouth shut, afraid to speak and ruin the spell. He just let Eddie stare at him and weaves his long fingers through his hair. A moment or two later and he was rewarded with Eddie’s warm, soft lips pressing down against his own—sober and methodical and gentle. Richie held still except to close his eyes as he relished the feeling. Eddie seemed frozen a moment, even his fingers stilling against Richie’s scalp, and then all at once was leaning into the kiss more and more as he sighed though his nose. 

Richie brought his hand up to the back of Eddie’s head, brushing through the short, soft hairs and committing the texture to memory. He started kissing back, parting his lips as he slowly sat himself up. Eddie moved with him, moved into him—ghosting his tongue across Richie’s bottom lip while climbing over his lap. He had one hand on the back of Richie’s neck and the other smoothing over his chest. If he noticed or felt how hard Richie’s heart was pounding, he didn’t break off their kiss to comment on it. 

This wasn’t Eddie drunk or drugged or out of control—this was just _Eddie._ This was Eddie in the morning, in his own home, kissing Richie awake because he _wanted_ to. 

In the back of his mind, Richie was practically cheering—yes! Yes, yes! Finally!—and at the same time panicking over every little thing. He wasn’t in the best shape, he hadn’t shaved _anywhere_ to make himself more appealing if this led anywhere else. What if one thing led to another and Eddie took one look at him and—

“Can I take your shirt off?” Eddie asked, panting as he stared at Richie with those huge doe eyes that Richie was head over heels for.

“Huh? Yeah—Sure, yes.” Smooth, dumbass. It was a miracle Eddie didn’t laugh in his face instead of hooking his fingers under the hem of Richie’s shirt. He was pulling on it at a frenzied pace, and as soon as it was free of Richie’s arms, he’d tossed it toward the bedroom door in order to get his sutured, mangled hands against Richie’s bare pecs. Did it hurt him to move them like that? Eddie had his fingers splayed out, sliding them through the coarse hairs on Richie’s chest. Richie was afraid to touch him the same way—not wanting to accidentally put pressure on his stitches or cause one to get snagged on the gauze bandage taped to him.

Eddie leaned in to kiss him again, and this time Richie was able to get his brain to cooperate and kiss back properly. He nudged Eddie’s lips apart, then gently licked at his bottom lip until Eddie’s tongue tentatively brushed against his own. 

Before long, they were laying side-by-side, tongues swirling together while Eddie let out soft moans and Richie did his best not to let out delighted squeals like a schoolgirl. One of Eddie’s hands had started sliding down Richie’s chest to brush against the bulge of his stomach where it came to rest just inches away from the hem of his beer bottle printed boxer briefs that he’d hoped would get more of a reaction than they had—though he’d only expected Eddie to see them when he crawled into bed to sleep and inevitably got up in the morning. He never expected to have Eddie _touching_ them. He would’ve at least _trimmed himself up_ if he’d had any idea this was going to happen. 

Because holy shit it was happening!

Richie had a hand cradling Eddie’s jaw, thumb careful not to touch any more than just the corner of the bandage on his cheek. His other was gently cupping Eddie’s hip, crushed a bit between Eddie’s weight and the mattress. He _had_ to keep it there. Eddie’s cock was standing at attention, trapped behind the fabric of his boxer briefs—so desperate and eager for attention that Richie couldn’t give it without permission that he was too much of a pussy to ask for.

Their mouths worked together more and more until Eddie finally tipped his head back and let out a deep moan. His cock twitched and it took all of the willpower Richie had left not to reach for it then and there.

“Fuck—Fuck, we shouldn’t. I shouldn’t. Sorry,” Eddie was panting, his hands pulling back from Richie just slightly. Richie swallowed hard, doing his best to keep his face neutral and not to show how desperate he was for things to go further. He could wait—he’d waited this long and he would wait even longer; he’d wait forever if he had to.

Only at the first signs of him pulling away, Eddie was pressed into his space again—their lips crashing together and Eddie’s hand (which didn’t feel quite as soft and smooth as before) was sliding down the front of Richie’s underwear. 

“Mmn—Oh, fuck!” Eddie called out, as if it were his dick suddenly being squeezed. Richie felt like he was about to fucking pass out just from the feeling of Eddie’s warm hand clamping down around him. He’d just given himself a quick talking to about not getting his hopes up, and there was Eddie undoing all of his work. “Fuck! What am I… Oh, fuck.” He was moaning again, like it was _his_ dick getting stroked.

Richie looked down at it, just staring past the bulge of his hairy stomach at the hand wrapped around his cock. The _gloved_ hand wrapped around his cock. Glove—that was a good idea with the stitches and all. Oh… Richie had just enough time to piece it together that _that_ was what Eddie had had in his hand when he came out of the bathroom—that this had been his intention since waking up.

Shit! Get up to speed, Richie! Jesus.

Richie struggled to get his hands to cooperate, ghosting his palm over the bulge in Eddie’s underwear. His breath caught in his throat as he felt a hot patch of precome form beneath his hand. Eddie rutted against him, but just a little—more so a reflex than anything else. One little jerk of his hips and then his legs were spreading in invitation as Richie touched him through the fabric. 

“It’s—It’s fucking… Oh, God!” Eddie sighed, sounding so incredibly worked up—and it took a moment for Richie’s brain to connect the dots that the other man was getting off just on the thought of how big he was. He didn’t have the longest dick in the world, sorry to say, but it was thick and it got the job done—and it was definitely working its charms as it twitched against Eddie’s palm.

“You like it?” Richie asked, unable to bite back the proud chuckle that tore itself from his throat.

“Mmhm,” Eddie answered, his voice a needy whine. 

“Yours is pretty nice, too,” Richie said, eating it up as Eddie snorted at him in disdain before kissing him again. Richie took that as permission to slip his hand down the front of Eddie’s underwear to grip his cock. He’d seen it before, at the show in the poor lighting of the club basement, but nothing compared to actually _feeling it._ Heavy and long and smooth and perfect. Fuck it felt so nice sliding against his palm, already slick with precome. 

“You didn’t say it was this big,” Eddie sighed. 

Fuck, if he was one for dirty talk, Richie was going to get down on one knee and propose right here and now.

“Gotta keep some secrets,” Richie said, smiling into their kiss as Eddie’s hand continued exploring his length before his fingers wandered further downward to cup his balls. Again, Eddie moaned as if it were himself—growing louder when Richie copied the motion and cupped him as well. 

“It’s so fucking big,” Eddie whined, wrapping his fingers around the base of Richie’s dick and squeezing it just shy of painfully before he started to set up a rhythm of quick, rough strokes. 

“Thank you,” Richie purred, sparks of pleasure going off behind his eyes—slowly taking over what active brain cells he had left. “You’re not too—ah! Not too bad yourself,” he panted, eyes rolling back as Eddie continued jacking him and making little pleasured sounds that grew louder and louder as Richie stroked him in return. 

Before long, Eddie’s underwear were around his thigh and he was pressed as close to Richie as he could possibly get. If he wasn’t moaning or whispering out desperate, filthy snippets of fantasies and what ifs, he was licking behind Richie’s teeth, swirling their tongues together. He was a great kisser, and even better at dirty talk than Richie could have ever imagined. When he’d thought about best case scenarios, about what could possibly happen on this trip out to New York, Richie had never once thought it could end like this. He’d hoped for a blowjob, maybe—and to be on the giving end, not the receiving—or for rushed, awkward handjobs. He’d thought, realistically, all he’d get was a quick handjob under the sheets with Eddie seeming conflicted and disinterested in it—he’d feared that enough that he’d talked himself out of agreeing to be touched at all if the opportunity arose. He’d rather wait and have it be perfect than rush either of them and have it ruined, but instead, here he was.

His fist was soaking wet in precome, jacking Eddie’s long, perfect cock as best he could with shock waves of pleasure rocketing up and down his spine. Every now and then he could feel it twitch in his hand, pulsing like he was ready to come and holding it back—dragging it out. God, Richie wished they could drag it out forever. Never in his wildest dreams did he think their first time being even close to intimate would end with Eddie moaning in his ear like a porn star from a sloppy handjob and explicit fantasies about what their sex life _would be like_ at eight in the morning.

“It’s going to—Oh! It’s going to feel so fucking good! Oh—Oh, _God!_ I-I want to fucking gag on it—oh, _shit!_ Fuck, fuck! I won’t even be able to fucking talk...” This turned to a shrill whine as his hand tensed around Richie’s cock. 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? Yeah? You want me to fuck your throat? Think you could take it?”

“Fuck—Maybe? Maybe? I don’t—oh, God. I-I want it. I want that so fuckin’ bad.” His dick throbbed as he said it, another bead of slick come dribbling out onto Richie’s hand. Richie was fucking thankful he’d put on his glasses, even if they were smudged and streaked with sweat. It was worth it, even blurry, to be able to see what his touch was doing to the other man. 

Richie captured his lips in another bruising kiss, moaning into it as Eddie whined against him and bucked his hips. The images flashing in his brain of Eddie with his lips stretched wide around his cock had Richie plummeting over the edge—his eyes closed shut tight to savor that mental image of those huge doe eyes locked on his as he choked on all Richie had to give him. 

It could happen. That could _really, actually_ happen! 

He broke off the kiss in order moan, gasping out Eddie’s name as the tightness in his stomach finally snapped. It was hard to remember to keep his hand moving, but whenever it stilled Eddie rocked against his palm to keep the friction going—gasping and sighing as he tried to get himself off. 

“C-Can I… Sir, can I come, please? Sir, can I come?” 

_Oh, fuck,_ was he perfect. God, he was so fucking perfect. 

“Come on, baby. Come for me.” The words came out like a growl and Eddie came apart for him with just a few more rough tugs at his leaking cock. Richie stroked him through it, still catching his breath and blinking back the spots in his vision as he watched the milky ropes of come paint Eddie’s chest and drip down onto the blanket beneath him. Eddie moaned loudly, then broke off into almost pained, broken mewls as he collapsed at Richie’s side—chest heaving twice as hard as Richie’s. 

Fuck! Was it good for him to have a workout like that after being stabbed in the chest!? What if he had a fucking heart attack? That would be _just_ Richie’s luck…

“You okay?” Richie asked, earning himself a gloved finger covered in his own come being pressed against his lips to shush him. Richie being Richie did the only thing he could think of, and opened this mouth to lick it clean without really thinking twice about it. Eddie pulled his hand back and stared at it, looking dazed and half-asleep as he spread his fingers apart to stare at the thin, glistening lines of come between them before he peeled off the glove, turning it inside out, and dropped it somewhere over the edge of the bed. 

“Sex would be better if it weren’t so fucking messy...” 

“Yeah… But it’s not fun if it’s not dirty. Let me get you a towel.” Richie leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, not missing the way Eddie cringed as he did it. Apparently kissing after eating come was a no-no, but dirty talk about choking on cocks wasn’t. 

Richie tried not to dwell on it as he slipped into the bathroom and washed his hands. He dared to look in the drawers beneath the sink, hoping to find baby wipes or wet cloths of any kind. He found a fuck ton of shaving supplies in one drawer, and then a shit ton of sex stuff in the other—condoms, lube, a toy, things Richie didn’t even want to let himself think about too much in fear he’d start to pop another boner, and _yes!_ baby wipes with aloe. Winner!

He brought two of the wipes back into the bedroom with him, not missing the way Eddie’s eyes went wide when he saw them. 

“Yeah, I saw your freaky sex drawer. Promise I’ve seen weirder,” Richie said, laying back down at Eddie’s side. He squeezed the wet wipes a few times in a vain attempt to warm them up, then started to clean off Eddie’s stomach and softening cock—earning a sharp gasp as he did. Once Eddie was clean, Richie started to wipe himself off, hurrying a little because his dick really didn’t look so nice when it was all shriveled up. He was a grower, not a shower—what could he say?

“I… I hope I didn’t make that weird. I—”

“Weird? Dude, that was probably the hottest fucking handjob I’ve ever had. And not just because I was trapped under the comforter and fucking burning. You’re hot as fuck.” Richie leaned over him to throw the wet wipes into the little trashcan that Eddie had somehow managed to get the glove in without looking (it was his apartment after all), and took the chance to kiss him again. Eddie didn’t cringe this time, just kissed back softly and stared at him looking self-conscious even as Richie pulled the blankets up over him. 

Eddie fixed his underwear, then made himself comfortable laying flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling like he regretted everything.

Fuck… Richie really hoped he hadn’t messed this up by snooping through the sex drawer. He just wanted _wet wipes._

“I… I shouldn’t have done that,” Eddie said, swallowing hard. 

“Why?” Richie asked, trying not to show that he was hurt. He should’ve known not to get his hopes up. He should’ve known—

“I… I’ve been on antibiotics and stuff, but I haven’t been checked out, you know? I could… I could have _anything_ from crawling around on the floor at the bar or from the knife or…or just Mark from cheating. We didn’t always use protection so...so, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“I’m… I—wow.” That was not what Richie was expecting. He planned for a spiel about bad timing and how Eddie wasn’t ready for any of this, not a PSA on STIs. He should’ve expected something like that from Eddie, though. He had a thing about germs and communicable diseases. “Well, if any of us is at risk, it’s you with all your open wounds. I, on the other hand, do get checked pretty regularly. Can’t be too safe, you know?”

“How many people are you fucking?” Eddie asked, sounding more baffled and humored than grossed out. 

“Uh… Just the one. He’s pretty great. We’ve given each other handjobs and I’ve had my hands on his ass, so I think it’s getting to be pretty serious.” Richie smiled at him and Eddie rolled his eyes before he turned onto his side and snuggled up. “I got checked after we met and after my last ex ditched me. Better safe than sorry.”

“I need to… I just haven’t. I just...I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get one of those kits they mail to you. I don’t want to see the doctor more than I have to.”

“I’m sure you’re fine. You’ve been on antibiotics forever and I doubt Mark gave you HIV unless he’s been out sharing needles.”

“Who the fuck knows,” Eddie muttered, nosing his way under Richie’s chin and letting out an irritable sigh.

Yeah, Richie didn’t particularly want Mark’s name coming up as pillow talk either.

“I really like you,” Richie said, gently rubbing his hand up and down Eddie’s back—glad he could do so now without striking any open sores. Just a couple scabs here and there.

It took a moment, but Eddie replied with a kiss to Richie’s neck and a quiet, “Yeah. I like you, too.”

His heart still soared just from hearing it, even with the delay. Eddie liked him, too. 

_Eddie_ liked him, _too!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope this doesn't feel rushed. Eddie has been having feels since his night of drinking and is finally getting overwhelmed by them. He, by no means, should be rushing into a relationship--so I guess it's a good thing Richie is in LA for a while to keep Eddie from being stupid. Doesn't mean he won't try, though! I hope you've enjoyed so far! More soon :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Eddie's anxiety attack at the start of this chapter somehow caused me to give myself an anxiety attack and break out in hives. Mental health is fun, y'all. Read at your own discretion.

When he finally crawled out of bed, Eddie was struck with the horror of two very prominent, very distinct things. The first being the realization that he was starting to suffer a nervous breakdown—had to be. He absolutely _had to be._ Why else would he have allowed himself to take things with the _virtual stranger_ in his bed to the next level? And the second being that he had no groceries… He’d left his produce aisle worth of food at Ben’s. 

He’d just promised Richie he would make them both smoothies for breakfast and then stood gaping at the open, empty refrigerator. He had sticks of vegan butter, an unopened bottle of Pea Protein “milk,” bottles of cold brew coffee (for mornings when he didn’t have the time to get his own), and nothing else… No food. No smoothie ingredients. Nothing at all. Unless ‘butter’ and ‘milk’ smoothies were Richie’s idea of a breakfast treat. 

Eddie was horrified. Absolutely horrified.

Suddenly, the weight of all his impulsive decisions came crashing down on him and he was stuck, trapped, staring into his empty fridge as it blew cold air out onto his bare legs. Because, like a fool, he was still just in his bandages and boxer briefs. (Clean ones, though, since his others were soaked down the back with sweat and...damp in the front from something else.)

How had he let this happen? How had he allowed himself to just walk out of Ben’s place with Richie and his luggage and _none of his food?_

How had he, a grown, forty-plus-year-old-man, woken up with a completely standard case of morning wood and turned it into a cheap hookup with the stranger in his bed? 

Fuck… Could he even keep calling Richie a stranger at this point? They texted, they called… Richie _flew out to see him_ at the drop of a hat. They weren’t _boyfriends_ by any means—by _any_ stretch of the imagination—but they weren’t strangers. He couldn’t keep using that excuse, but he just wasn’t _ready_ for more…

So why the fuck did he…

Why did…

Oh, no—no, no!

“Whoa! Hey, hey, hey. What’s wrong?” Suddenly, Richie’s warm hands were gripping Eddie’s bare, heaving shoulders.

He was hyperventilating, and there were tears making his vision blurry though they’d yet to fall. Surely _now_ Richie would take the hint and leave. Surely _now_ he’d see that Eddie was a mess, both physically and mentally. Surely _now_ he’d see that Eddie was a lot more to put up with than he’d thought going in.

Things with him didn’t get easier—they grew more and more difficult and frustrating. Maybe Richie could handle food sensitivities and allergies, but there was no way he could handle all of that and all the scars and his issues and—and just _everything else_ that made Eddie what he was…

“I’m going to get your inhaler. Stay right here—stay right there.” Richie’s hands were gone from his shoulders and Eddie pulled himself together enough to shut the door of his refrigerator and lean against it. 

Ben probably thought he was ungrateful because he’d packed up and disappeared so quickly once Richie showed up, Richie was going to end up thinking Eddie was a tease, and Mark… Mark had fucking _tried to kill him._

Crisis appointment, Eddie thought as his inhaler was pushed into the palm of his hand. He needed to make a crisis appointment with his therapist. Crisis appointment. Crisis appointment.

Over and over on repeat in his head as he tried to breathe deeply enough to take in the medicine from his inhaler. 

“There you go. Just breathe… Why don’t you come sit on the couch? How’s that? Is that okay?” Richie had put an arm around him and Eddie found himself nodding as he was walked over to the couch and sat down. 

“I don’t… I don’t have any—any food,” Eddie wheezed, starting to feel lightheaded as he leaned back against the cushions.

“I saw that. I’ll order something. Don’t worry. Or—Or I can go get something. Whatever you’d like.”

Eddie’s carefully re-bandaged hands fumbled with his aspirator and he took another deep breath from it, this time finally taking in enough air and medicine to feel its effects start working through him. 

An hour later and he had breakfast delivered to him with all his allergies starred and underlined on the box from the restaurant. Richie was next to him on the couch, crunching away on his breakfast hashbrowns and smiling at the movie playing on TV. Eddie, meanwhile, ate his avocado breakfast bowl without really tasting or appreciating it. 

His mind was still racing, running over every little thing that had happened since Richie arrived at Ben’s the day before. They’d talked, they’d napped, they’d gotten up to eat… He’d packed up, they left for Eddie’s, they had tea and watched a movie. Eddie showered, Richie made him more tea and put ointment on his wounds…

And then they’d woken up and...and _that_ happened.

Oh, God, Eddie would never live down the shame. It was just… Waking up that way, feeling warm and safe for the first time in so long, he’d been _weak._ He couldn’t help himself. Richie was there and the feelings for him that Eddie did his best to keep tamped down had started to fester.

Richie was _good to him._ He brought him tea and hadn’t made a single move their whole time together except to put an arm around him here and there. It… It just felt _right_ this morning. It felt like a good idea…

Because he hadn’t thought it through. Now, now that he had to deal with the reality of what he’d done, it didn’t seem so grand. It seemed a whole awful lot like he’d made the second worst mistake of his life. 

Richie would get possessive now. Eddie had gone so far as to slip up and call him Sir. What the hell had he been thinking!? He was lucky the whole situation didn’t spiral completely out of his control. He was lucky he didn’t get himself _assaulted._

“Eddie? You… You don’t look so hot. Are you okay?” 

“Just—Just, whatever. It’s the meds I’m on. I’m fine,” Eddie choked out, his body starting to shake.

“You sure? Kinda...freaking me out a little. Do you want some more water?”

Regardless of Eddie saying he’d get it himself, Richie had bolted from the couch to refill his cup. 

How could anyone who identified as a Dom be so...so caring? It didn’t make sense. When would the facade finally drop? When would he start to show his true colors?

Why the fuck did Eddie think it was a good idea to fuck this man!? Was he that desperate? That dumb!?

He couldn’t breathe! He couldn’t fucking breathe!

“Eddie? Eddie, talk to me. Talk to me. What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” Richie was kneeling in front of him, trying to make eye contact while Eddie stared at his own lap in horror. 

No way out. There was no way out. He had no way out of this.

“Eds… Eddie? Just breathe. Breathe… In and out, okay? In… Out.” His voice reached through the noise in Eddie’s head—firm and direct now, not nearly as soft and sweet as before. “Eddie, breathe. In… _Out.”_

His lungs were screaming—his heart felt like it was about to burst. His chest fucking _hurt._

Moments later and he was rushing to the bathroom, throwing up everything he’d tried to eat while still struggling to breathe. 

Crisis appointment. He needed to call!

His chest hurt. His lungs burned. His throat was burning. He couldn’t _fucking_ breathe.

In his head, he imagined Richie outside the door pounding on it the way Mark always did when he got “hysterical” like this. It didn’t happen much, but sometimes… Sometimes after rough scenes. 

Sometimes after… after…

He didn’t know long he sat there, kneeling on the tile floor with his hands gripping onto the sides of the toilet bowl so hard his arms were shaking. His vision had turned fuzzy and his nose was running horribly, but it was quiet.

The whole room was quiet aside from his shaking breaths. No one was beating on the door trying to get him to open it up. No one was yelling at him to get a grip. Of course not… The only other person in his apartment was _Richie._

His _friend._

His friend who bought him tea and breakfast and sang shitty, fake songs while boiling water and didn’t know how to dress. His friend who had boxer briefs with obnoxious prints on them like he was a teenager. 

The person who had flown out to see him at the drop of a hat to make sure he was okay… Of course no one was pounding on the door.

Eddie got himself under control. He spit into the toilet one final time, flushed it, and started stripping off his bandages so he could rewash his hands and do the whole process over again. He rinsed his mouth, then brushed his teeth, then gargled the mouthwash he had under the sink (the special kind that worked without burning, because right now he didn’t need more pain. Next, he reapplied the Vaseline to his sutured fingers and palms and wrapped his hands with the gauze and bandages. The ritual calmed him and gave him the chance to focus his energy and ground himself.

Crisis appointment. He’d call right now and leave a voicemail if he did not get through…

His cell phone was still on the bedside table, plugged in and charging from where he’d forgotten to plug it in the night before. Richie was not sitting on the bed as Eddie expected, but he could hear the television playing in the living room still. Hopefully Richie hadn’t gotten upset and left… Left with the door unlocked so any number of—

Don’t think about it. Don’t go there.

There weren’t any text messages from Richie saying he’d gone back to Beverly’s or gone home. He hadn’t left. Richie wouldn’t do that. The only people in Eddie’s apartment were himself and Richie, and he was _safe._

Eddie ignored the text messages he had from Ben which helpfully reminded him that he’d forgotten his groceries in his “mad dash” to get home. That was a conversation Eddie didn’t have energy for at the moment. He listened to the phone ring, calming down to the extent that he started to feel numb. Even the burn and sting of his stitches was fading into nothingness. 

“Yeah… Hi, this is… This is Edward Kaspbrak. I… I need to schedule a… A… What’s it called? Um… Yeah, an appointment. An...an emergency appointment—crisis! That’s… That. Word. Crisis appointment. I need one.” 

“Alright, Mr. Kaspbrak. I certainly hope you’re alright and that you’re some place safe,” the receptionist said, her familiar voice lulling him further under the haze. He felt as if he were standing there in the office he used to visit once every two weeks—mainly to vent about work now that he’d overcome the pain and grief of losing his mom those years ago… 

The receptionist asked him if he was having thoughts of hurting himself or others, if he was in need of emergency services, and if he was able to wait until tomorrow afternoon or would an early morning appointment be better?

“Tomorrow afternoon would be fine. I’m… I’m not in a hurry.” 

His tone, which he knew was too slow and too quiet, got him asked if he’d taken any medication besides what he’d been prescribed—and, if he only took his own medications, how much. The receptionist also offered an immediate virtual visit with another therapist within their organization, but Eddie wasn’t in the mood to talk with any more strangers.

He told her he’d wait, reiterated that he was taking his medications as prescribed and that no one was in immediate danger, then ended the call. He carefully put the reminder in his phone, deleting a meeting he was supposed to go to on Monday that he definitely wouldn’t be at work for to put in the appointment. 2:15pm. What a weird time of day for an appointment.

Eddie got himself dressed and slowly made his way out of his bedroom, finding Richie to be sitting on the couch looking like he was about to crawl out of his skin.

“Hey… Sorry. I...didn’t feel well.” Eddie would’ve felt embarrassed if he weren’t so numb and raw. 

“It’s fine. I… I thought I’d give you some space. I didn’t want to just split or anything, though. I get them, too, sometimes. Panic attacks, you know?” Richie grimaced a little bit and Eddie found himself just staring in wonder.

“You didn’t make me any tea,” Eddie said, watching as Richie’s face twisted up with a smile. Eddie preferred him smiling over looking all serious and glum.

“Oh, my apologies, your Highness. I’ll get to it.” Richie stood from the couch and moved past Eddie without touching him, without invading his space. “Caffeine or herbal?”

“Caffeine would be nice,” Eddie said, sinking down into his recliner and staring at the travel show on TV. Brussels? What was there to do in Brussels? Well...he’d just have to wait and find out.

“Eddie Tea?” Richie called to him from the kitchen.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Richie repeated, sounding much more enthusiastic than Eddie had. “I think I’ll have some, too.”

A little while later and they were both sitting together learning about the Atomium which had Richie completely floored with its futuristic design. Truthfully, it made Eddie kind of nauseous… He would happily stay in New York.

Richie had laid himself out on the couch, his feet facing the recliner where Eddie sat, as if instinctively giving him as much space as he could. He didn’t mention the panic attack again or this morning or anything else—just commented on the show and copied the people’s accents whenever they said something he found funny.

It put Eddie at ease. Despite the caffeine content of his wonderful, oddly purple tea, Eddie dozed off for a bit and came to to Richie’s loud snoring and program about the sights and snacks of Brazil. 

He imagined for a moment that _this_ was his life. That this was how he spent his time away from work. Just relaxing in his apartment, drinking strange tea with Richie who _also_ liked the Travel Chanel, who didn’t mind strange food or Eddie’s dietary restrictions, who didn’t take panic attacks personally or bring them up a hundred times to “figure out what happened.” 

This morning had been...nice. Awkward and inappropriate and _wrong,_ but nice. He’d been the one who initiated it. He had been the one who came back to bed and told Richie to brush his teeth so they could kiss. He had gotten the glove to protect his stitches so he could give Richie thanks for taking care of him—because he’d _wanted to._

It was okay, Eddie told himself. What he’d done was okay because he was an adult and Richie was an adult and… and…

And he wanted to keep Richie interested. He wanted him to know that _he_ was interested. The timing was wrong, but if Richie was patient… All Eddie had wanted this morning was to give Richie a taste of what he could have if he was patient. To keep his interest. To keep him around… 

God, was he a teenager? What was _wrong_ with him? Eddie found himself too exhausted to dive any deeper. 

They’d gotten each other off. Big deal. He needed to just move on. Richie had seen him have sex with other men for Christ’s sake! This was hardly any different.

Eddie reminded himself of this as he put down the leg rest of his recliner and slowly came over to the couch. He woke Richie up by crawling over top of him—earning himself a shocked stare and an awkward, uncomfortable smile. 

“Hi,” Richie said, still grinning as if nervous and confused.

“Hey,” Eddie answered, kissing him on the corner of his mouth because he was still nervously grinning, and then plopped himself down on Richie’s chest. It hurt his stitches a bit to be laying this way, but Eddie had never really minded pain.

Richie’s arms wrapped around him in a gentle embrace, and the man pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“I need to say something,” Eddie mumbled, his face buried in Richie’s shoulder in a way that made it so he could only see a sliver of the television where street vendors were selling sizzling food.

“Sounds like you just did,” Richie answered.

Eddie rolled his eyes, but didn’t dignify the joke. “This morning… I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Yeah, you kinda said that a few times,” Richie said, taking a deep breath which he held. His heart was starting to beat a little harder. Eddie could hear it from where he was laying. It was so unusual to have someone being nervous around him. He didn’t consider himself to be the least bit threatening. 

“I’m just… I don’t know. I’m not looking for someone right now, but...but later, when I’m more put together, you know? Maybe when I’m back to work and not a mess… I wouldn’t say no to us, like...talking.”

“Talking? So I should just tape my mouth shut for now? ‘Cause I gotta say, I’m a babbling brook. It’s gonna be hard for me to shut up and lay still. Might have to dope more or—”

“You know what I mean,” Eddie growled, waking up just a little from the fog in his brain. “Right now I’m just not… A guy tried to fuckin’ kill me. I’m pretty sure he was trying to kill me at the show. I _know_ he tried to kill me the last time. I’m not in a place to start dating someone right now. And I know you’re in Cali and I’m in New York and it’d just be some bullshit long distance thing until one of us fucks someone closer, but I just… I need time to get myself back together. I don’t want you stuck doing it for me. It… It just—”

“I get that,” Richie said, sounding so calm and matter-of-fact. It was as if there were a silent ‘duh’ attached to the statement. “Eddie, I’m not trying to rope you into anything. This morning was hot as fuck, but I’m not dumb enough to think it meant we were _together._ You need time. I get that. I really do. I didn’t come out here to get in your pants. I came here to make sure you were okay and to rub goop on your chest and make sure you were taken care of.”

“I know,” Eddie said, heaving a great sigh and moving his head so he could see the television better. 

“And as for fucking someone else, I’m...not so sure that’s gonna happen until you tell me ‘no chance in hell.’ I’m kinda hung up on you. I mean, I flew across the country to buy you tea. If I just wanted a quick fuck, I wouldn’t be trying this hard.”

“Yeah? You gonna move out to New York?” Eddie asked, harshly voicing the reality that existed just beyond his most irrational of fantasies. 

“I could… You wanna move out to LA?”

“I could,” Eddie said, but his tone was carefully kept at neutral. He could, but he didn’t want to. There had to be more for him there than a man he’d hooked up with once. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Richie kind of knew from the get go that what happened back at Eddie’s apartment shouldn’t have happened. If he was a better man, maybe he would’ve turned Eddie down—told him that he’d rather wait. But wouldn’t that have just made Eddie embarrassed? 

They were both adults. They were both grown men. 

There shouldn’t be so much pressure and stress over a fucking mutually consensual handjob. Eddie came on _to him._ Eddie had been the one asking for it—who brought a fucking latex glove with him back to the bedroom. (Actually, scratch that. It was Eddie that Richie was talking about. It was probably a _non-_ latex glove. If Eddie didn’t have latex allergy, Richie was going to be shocked.) Eddie was a little messed up after everything that happened to him, and rightfully so. But that morning he hadn’t seemed like a coerced prom date. He hadn’t seemed reluctant and uncertain. Eddie came back to bed like a man on a mission and they’d had a good time.

That was what Richie told himself after three days back in LA with hardly any correspondence from Eddie.

Eddie had a lot going on. Eddie was an emotional wreck. They had a good time and Eddie wasn’t going to ghost him like he ex had… He just needed some time and some space.

Still kind of hurt like a motherfucker, though, to lose his good morning and good night texts. Richie had gotten stupidly reliant on those. He would just have to be patient. Maybe it was all just some cruel test and Eddie would pop up in a week or so to say he passed.

That being said, he was feeling a little...hopeless. 

Should he order tea and ship it to Eddie’s apartment just to see if it got a reaction? Maybe lie and say he forgot something or lost something at Ben’s house? Ah, but that would only serve to make him look desperate…

And even if his face was in the dictionary next to the word ‘Desperate,’ Richie couldn’t let himself stoop that low.

He could, however, stoop low enough to flail and knock over another writer’s coffee all over his and another innocent bystander’s notebooks when he saw Eddie’s name flash across his cell phone screen where it sat next to said ill-fated cup of coffee.

“Dude!” The man shouted, grabbing his notebook and standing up. The other writer was scrambling to get his notes and utensils away from the river of coffee that continued flowing even after Richie righted the spilled cup.

“Sorry—Shit, sorry!” Richie was shaking a few drops of coffee off his phone, cringing as he watched the tan liquid ruin his coworker's notebook. 

“Get some fucking paper towels! Christ, Tozier!”

The man was still raving, even after Richie did as he was asked, trying to read the sentences of the _novel_ Eddie had sent him in between steps. He mopped up the coffee and dabbed at the pages of the ruined notebooks while all the writers called out jeers at him for the mess (klutz being one of the nicest insults). Finally, as he stood next to the trashcan where he’d just deposited half a roll’s worth of soaked paper towels, Richie got to read the texts that had come through.

Eds: _(1/5)Sorry I haven’t been in touch and that I was such a mess on Sunday. Ever since that stuff happened with Mark I haven’t been feeling like myself. I_  
Eds: _(2/5) needed to be alone for a while and I’m sorry if that hurt you. Especially after Sunday morning. I’m afraid I may have taken_  
Eds: _(3/5) advantage of you and your kindness. I met with my therapist and talked it over and I’m just really sorry if I sent the wrong message or took things too_  
Eds: _(4/5) far. I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me and I know not talking to you the past few days doesn’t express that. I hope you_  
Eds: _(5/5) can forgive me because I really do like spending time together and hope to see you for Beverly’s show coming up. But I completely understand if you’ve changed your mind._  
Eds: _Sorry for the novel. I hope your day is going well._

Richie couldn’t even think of a coherent reply, and his coworkers were jeering at him to get back to the table. He felt like a kid in school trying not to get caught passing notes as he typed fractured sentences to Eddie, trying to form a coherent message and express how deeply he _understood_ what Eddie was feeling and why he needed time to think. 

_I rlly hope UR therapist tld U Im the last prsn U shld b worried abt. Txting at wrk. Srry. .. I hope UR OK. Ben wrried abt U._  
_As in /I’ve/ BEEN nt has Ben been worried. Obvis Ben worried 2._

Wasting precious time clarifying things he didn’t need to clarify, but Richie couldn’t help himself.

“Would you like to join us at the table, Tozier, or do you have someplace else you need to be?” 

Richie’s cheeks burned dark red as he grinned nervously at his coworkers who did not look the least bit impressed with his lack of focus. They seldom were. He couldn’t wait to hit it big (bigger) and quit this fucking job. All it did was give him a fuckton of stress he didn’t need and leave him panicked that he was about to get shit canned every day. And if he got shit canned, he wouldn’t be able to afford the travel expenses for his tour next year. (Not to mention the number of venues that might back out if his ‘promising’ career took a trip to the shitter.)

Richie did his best to ignore his phone as it lit up in his lap with incoming texts. It wasn’t like Eddie was going to quit talking to him for good because he didn’t answer in 2.5 seconds. (Why did his brain tell him he would, though?) He contributed the jokes he had, the skit he’d come up with, and helped fluff up one of the new writer’s ideas. He was productive and useful for all of an hour and a half, then dissolved into his phone again as soon as it was announced as time for a coffee break.

Eds: _I entirely forgot that it’s Thursday. I’ll text you later. Or you can call if you want. I won’t be doing anything._

Richie did his best to reassure him that it was fine to be texting whenever he could steal glances at his phone, and by the end of his workday they were settled into a much more comfortable conversation about Eddie’s plans to return to work. He was feeling a little more in control of his faculties, Eddie told him, and that he was off the pain medications that “might’ve impaired his judgment too much for him to be able to work.” Richie waited for that to devolve into a discussion about how the pain meds in his system had led to their ‘encounter’ Sunday morning, but it never happened. Eddie seemed to be taking responsibility for it, even if his regret was obvious despite remaining unspoken. 

After that, things settled back into their post-attempted homicide routine. Richie got his good morning texts and sent Eddie the same, and they spoke throughout the afternoon about irrelevant things like smoothies and groceries and meeting friends for coffee. After Eddie went back to working, the texting routine was officially back on track with the occasional phone call peppered in if one of them had a story too lengthy or, in Richie’s case, too theatrical for text messages to share.

Those calls which should probably take twenty minutes at most extended more and more until, one evening, they’d concluded a three and a half hour phone call that had Richie feeling equal parts giddy and lonely once it had reached its end. What else did he have to do on a Saturday evening besides lay around on his couch talking to his...friend. 

He was pretty sure they were dating, but he wasn’t going to push for that label—especially not now. Eddie talked about therapy, talked about medications, talked about court dates and attorneys, and lawsuits he was filing against Mark and the locksmith they’d tracked down who had let Mark into Eddie’s apartment for a few hundred bucks. He talked a lot and no matter what the subject, Richie was just happy to hear his voice and to be included in the conversation at all.

Then, about a week prior to Richie’s scheduled visit to New York, he received a call from Eddie that woke him up at a little after four in the morning—around seven Eddie’s time. Richie stared at the phone, half asleep and confused. He waited to see if Eddie would hang up, if it was a pocket dial or if he’d accidentally clicked call instead of text. When the phone continued to ring, though, Richie swiped to answer it and tried not to sound as dead to the world as he was.

“Hello?”

“Richie—Oh, thank God. Oh, God...” He sounded absolutely wrecked, his voice sharp and rushed and broken up by heavy breaths as though he were panting for air.

“Uh… Everything okay?” Richie asked, brain trying to get up to speed as Eddie continued wheezing in his ear.

“My—My car! I… I got a flat.” If not for how absolutely on the verge of panic he sounded, Richie might’ve laughed out loud. He could just picture it—Eddie on the side of the road in one of his nice suits on his way to work, having an epic meltdown because he needed to kneel on the dirty street to change his tire. 

“It’s okay. It’s alright, Eds—do you have a spare?”

“I… I don—I don’t know!” He was breathing even heavier, hyperventilating. Not good.

“Okay. It’s okay. Did you check under the carpeting in the trunk? That’s usually where they are. You’ve probably got a donut.”

“Donut… What?” Eddie’s voice shook as he asked it. He sounded as terrible as he had that day at his apartment after they’d messed around and Eddie realized he didn’t have any groceries. He was about to have a fucking panic attack on the side of the road in New York City. Richie couldn’t let that happen.

“The crappy little spare they give you with the car. Check the trunk, okay? I’m right here.”

“Okay,” Eddie said, voice shaking. “Maybe I should just call Triple A.”

“Or maybe you should check the trunk for the donut tire, Eds. You got this. Come on.”

“Okay,” Eddie answered, moaning as if Richie had just told him to cut his own hand off. 

If he really wanted to call Triple A, he would have, Richie told himself. If Eddie wanted roadside assistance, he would’ve called one of the five thousand companies he was sure Eddie did business with who tacked on roadside assistance with their services. But he didn’t call for roadside assistance; he’d called for Richie at four in the fucking morning.

Richie listened to Eddie get his composure and open the door of his car. Almost immediately the slam was followed by the rushing of wind in the microphone and the blaring of horns. Eddie was muttering and whining as he popped the trunk, broken up phrases that mostly consisted of “oh” and “oh no...” and “I’m so late.”

“Okay. I have the little tire… Oh, no… Oh, no!”

“What? What’s wrong with the little tire?” Richie asked, sitting up and turning on his bedside lamp.

“I… I don’t have anything to kneel on and—and it’s...there’s _litter!”_

“You can call Triple A if you want to,” Richie said as he put on his glasses and started to stretch. “Have you changed a tire before?”

“No!” He said it so forcefully, as though Richie should’ve _realized_ that this sort of thing just did _not_ happen to Eddie Kasprak. 

“Okay, well, we’ll get through it together, okay? Sorry about your pants. They’re gonna get dirty. Get the tire out and get the jack out. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Eddie breathed. “I need my inhaler.”

“Do you have it on you?” Richie asked, shaking his head. How did this man survive? Mark had proven himself to be a shit person as well as a shit partner. There was no way in hell he’d put up with Eddie having a panic attack over wanting to change his own tire and not knowing how. There was no way Mark had leapt at the opportunity to fix whatever issue came up, either.

Unless he _did._ Unless he took great _pleasure_ in doing all the things Eddie should be able to do for himself, simply for the excuse to put him down for not being able to do it—or to keep him dependent and helpless. But what forty-year-old man had never changed a fucking tire!?

Richie listened patiently as Eddie took a few hits from his inhaler and got himself situated with the jack and the spare tire. 

“Is it on the curb side or the road side?” Richie asked.

“Curb. Thank _God,”_ Eddie panted. He didn’t sound any calmer and probably wouldn’t even after the ordeal was over. “I-I’m so late! There’s a _meeting!”_

“You’ll be fine. You’ve got this, Eds. Did you text your boss?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathed. He sounded like he was going to fucking faint… On the side of a busy street in New York City. Goddamnit. 

“Okay. Good. Now get the jack under the car.”

“Yeah—Yeah, I know where it goes.” He didn’t sound irritable or cocky—he sounded like he was reassuring himself that he knew what to do with a jack. “Okay… I can do this. Okay.” He coughed then, and cleared his throat, then seemed to lean down to get to work because the next noise he made was a whine. 

“What suit are you wearing today?” Richie asked, not that he had any awareness of many of Eddie’s clothes except the nice blue suit he’d seen in a couple of selfies and a really sleek gray one Eddie had custom ordered before the incident with Mark—planning to wear it to some conference he was now paranoid he was going to be excluded from due to his absences from work. 

“My… My navy J. Crew one. Why?” Eddie was whimpering and grunting as he screwed the handle into the jack and set it up with an audible rattle of metal that cut through the static of wind and roar of traffic.

“Navy, huh? Not with black socks, right?”

“No… No!” He repeated, snapping as if the question just registered. “Of course not! I have… Chevron, brown and… They’re brown and navy chevron socks. Why do you care about my socks anyway?” The panic was very nearly out of his voice and Eddie didn’t even notice it.

“I haven’t told you this yet, but I’m a foot fetishist. I need something to visualize when I’m cranking one out later.”

“That’s… Urk! That’s just… Unf...” The grunts he was making trying to jack up his car could’ve sounded pornographic on their own if Richie weren’t already on the verge of laughing at him. “That’s _gross,_ dude.”

“Different strokes for different folks. So… Definitely not a black tie, then?”

“No! My tie is—hang on. Hang on… Oh, God… Some guy is coming up to me. Oh, God!” All that panic was coming back to his voice and there was a loud thud that Richie imagined was Eddie falling against his car in fear of this person walking down the street.

“It’s okay. He probably just wants to make sure—”

What it turned out to be was a homeless man who wanted to offer to put the spare tire on the fancy rich man’s car for him. Eddie told him no twice, politely, then dissolved into a panic when he said no the third time and the man didn’t leave.

“No! I told you no! Get away from me! Get away from my car! I don’t have any money! Get—Get away! Get away from me!” 

“Eddie—Eddie, calm down. Calm down, Eds. Is he gone?”

“Yeah,” Eddie panted, already riled back up to how he had been when he’d called. “Yeah, he’s...he’s looking at me from across the street...”

“It’s alright. He’s not gonna bother you. If he does, just call 911 and keep making a scene, okay? There’s witnesses. It’s okay. You’re safe. Alright? You’re safe, Eds. Let’s just focus on changing the tire and getting you to work—”

“I—I thought he was going to stab me,” Eddie whimpered. He sounded almost like a little kid—lost and afraid. He should’ve just called fucking Triple A.

“You’re okay, Eddie. Let’s get this tire changed, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Eddie wheezed in his ear for another few moments, then settled into his work—his cell phone in the breast pocket of his suit on speaker phone as he did. His little grunts of strain each time he loosened one of the lug nuts had Richie smiling as he laid back on his bed with the light on. He could just see it.

“So what tie are you wearing?”

“It’s—I’ll just send you a picture later. It’s brown and cream… Little, like, dots on it.”

“Sounds cute,” Richie said, just to hear Eddie scoff at him.

“Okay… The tire’s off. So… So I just put on the donut, right?”

“Yeah… And put the lug nuts back on.”

“Well, duh! Not gonna drive off with the tire not _attached.”_

They bickered back and forth until Eddie was whining in dismay at his blackened hands and his dirty suit. The flat tire was in the trunk and Eddie kept Richie on the line with him the rest of the drive, fretting the whole way that the donut would give out or that he’d crash or get _another_ flat.

Richie did his best to distract him and keep him calm so he wasn’t a nervous wreck when he made it to his obvious, though he inevitably was. He had himself convinced that he was going to be fired or demoted over his recent absences, not believing it at all when Richie told him he was fine and they wouldn’t fire him for being the victim of a crime.

He wasn’t convinced, and that made Richie sad. If they fired him after all he’d been through, then Eddie would be better off without them. If only he could see it that way, too… 

Once Eddie was at the office, he was back to being distraught—mourning that he had missed coffee with Ben only to be delighted to find a cup waiting for him on his desk (which Eddie sent him a photo of because the call had dropped in the elevator and he didn’t bother to call back). Ben had brought it to the receptionist who seemed to like or pity Eddie, the jury was still out on that one, and agreed to put it on his desk for him. Richie kept it to himself that Ben’s good looks might’ve had something to do with getting the receptionist to do his bidding.

A few hours later, when Richie was waking up from his alarms after Eddie had stopped texting back, he had a photo of Eddie’s tie—which was really just an adorable selfie that Richie saved in a folder with all the rest. The photo did show the scar down Eddie’s left cheek, though, and it was Richie’s first time seeing it since the stitches had been removed. It was still dark, not quite healed all the way, and a little jagged. It definitely made him look like a bad ass, though knowing Eddie couldn’t change a tire on his own made that image even more comical to Richie than it already was. 

Richie responded to the selfie with one of his own, showing off his nerdy Atari shirt that he had on under a black and brown Hawaiian. 

To this, Eddie replied with, “Q*bert ♥” That led to an hours long discussion about Atari games and Nintendo games and a debate over whether or not the Sega Saturn got the appreciation it deserved. 

If he weren’t already, by that conversation alone, Richie was sure he would have fallen in love. And if not from the talk of retro games than from his final picture message of the day as Eddie texted him goodnight. 

A photo of Eddie, laying in bed with one of his bare feet poking out from under the blanket posed perfectly in the frame which centered around a cup of herbal tea clutched carefully in his scarred left hand. Richie replied with a photo of himself laying on the couch where he had a plate of pizza on his chest—fresh from the microwave. 

Eds: _If I are that I’d die._

Eds: _*Ate_

_We’ll see how I fair. It’s like five days old._

Eds: _Wow… You’re about to find out what celiac feels like._

_RIP to my ass._

Eds: _For once I am happy I am in NY and nowhere near your ass right now._

 _Does that mean you usually wish you were???_ Richie couldn’t help but to smile at his phone like a fool. 

Eds: _Maybe… But hearing about your diet makes me reconsider it… A LOT._

Back and forth they texted until Eddie’s tea was gone and he was snuggling up, hugging his pillow and fast asleep. A few hours later and Richie was sending him a good morning text that Eddie wouldn’t get for several more hours—and the cycle repeated (minus the flat tire drama, as he’d gotten his car to the shop and had a rental for the meantime) the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awkward bridge of a chapter is awkward and a bridge. Time for newer, better things on the horizon. What's that? Reuniting in the next chapter? What's that? Eddie is pulled into a meeting? Oh no! Is he fired? You'll have to wait and see.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be longer but it's already about 7k words. So...uh, epic Eddie vs Bosses meeting circa 2k?? (Please not 2020. Anything but 2020) will be in the NEXT chapter! (Unless I fall into another fluffhole.)

Richie was practically vibrating out of his skin he was so excited. He was hurrying through the airport, rushing past other travelers who all moved too slowly in his path—as if intentionally trying to trip him up and slow him down on his mission to the front doors. He had one thing on his mind—one. Only one.

Eddie.

Eddie, Eddie, _Eddie._

Today was the day he got to see Eddie again, and not just selfies. Sure, he got to see Beverly, too, but that wasn’t quite the same as it used to be. He was excited to reconnect, but Beverly wasn’t _Eddie!_

Richie burst out the doors, wheeling his suitcase behind him so quickly it nearly flipped onto its side whenever it hit a bump or a crack in the sidewalk. He hurried out past the queues and throngs of people and out to the sea of cars. 

Out to _Eddie’s_ car.

God, Richie was fucking ecstatic!

Eddie was leaning against his car, arms crossed over his chest looking bored—looking tired—as he stared off to the side at some corner of the airport. 

“Eddie!” Richie called out, getting the man to flinch and snap his head in his direction. His already huge eyes were widened in surprise, and then rolling in annoyance as Richie closed the distance between them to hug him. 

“Yeah—hey! Ugh, hi… Yes, hello,” he said, laughing as he gave in and hugged back. 

“I missed you!” Richie couldn’t help himself but to say.

“Yeah. I, uh, I missed you, too,” Eddie said, trying to bite back his smile as they parted. Eddie popped the trunk so Richie could throw his suitcase into it. “Did you have a nice flight?”

“Nice as any, I guess,” Richie said, smiling as he fastened himself into the passenger seat. Eddie had a really nice car—sleek charcoal gray with black leather interior. Really decked out with all the bells and whistles and a nice, subtle air freshener clipped into the air vent that made the whole thing smell fresh and clean. 

“Good… That’s, uh, that’s good.” He was smiling nervously, his fingers tensing around the steering wheel now and then as he drove. They were going to Eddie’s place first, then meeting Ben and Bev for dinner and drinks. (Well, drinks for everyone who wasn’t Eddie. He had volunteered to be DD and had already—in their previous conversations—made it known that Richie wasn’t “getting him drunk again” and that he “shouldn’t get his hopes up for something.”)

In the last couple days before Richie’s trip, Eddie had seemed to pull away a bit. His texts were less frequent and Richie’s calls went unanswered, but Richie had a suspicion that Eddie was just afraid.

Afraid Richie was just coming to see him in hopes of getting in his pants. Afraid Richie would see his scars and lose interest. Afraid to be vulnerable and get hurt again. Richie didn’t like being ignored, but he understood it. The last thing he wanted was to press his luck and scare Eddie off...or hurt him worse. 

“How’s work been the past few days?” Richie asked. Work was one of Eddie’s ‘safe subjects.’ It was the kind of topic he could go on for hours about without thinking twice. He was good at his job, successful, valuable. And, despite all of those obvious traits, he was paranoid that he was about to lose his job—either because of his sick time or leave of absence following his assault or the court dates. Paranoid to a fault. For all his paranoia, he became that much more committed, that much more involved. He worked OT. He volunteered for projects. He worked himself to the bone. 

They were never going to fire him. He was too useful to them now—doing the work of twenty men for the price of one. 

“Work? Oh, work! Yeah! So, Thompson fucked up again. Finally got the boss’s attention. I don’t know how he managed to keep his job this time, but if anyone bites the dust with next month’s sweep, it’s gonna be him.” Eddie licked his lips and then gulped, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel again. “God, I _hope_ it’s him.”

“It will be. You worry too much, Eds. You’re way too valuable for them to let you go. I’m tellin’ ya.”

“Yeah… Thompson put the security of, like, five of our clients at risk. I don’t know how he even still had his job at the end of the day. If I made a mistake like that, I’d be fired in a minute—in a _minute!”_

“Well, you know what they say. A lazy employee stays lazy and no one bats an eye. A good employee fucks up one time and everyone loses their shit.”

“Yeah, that sounds right… It just makes me so mad, you know? I work my ass off and I… Fuck, I’m pretty sure I’m getting fired in next month’s sweep. Who am I kidding? Thompson can at least _come to work._ I missed two days in the past two weeks because the court date ended up being rescheduled after I was _already there!_ At the _court!_ ‘Oh, he has a _stomach bug and can’t make it._ ’ Give me a fuckin’ break...”

“No one’s going to fire you, Eds. I’m telling ya. You’re too valuable. Don’t worry so much. You’ll make your hair turn gray.” To this, Eddie ran his fingers of his left hand through his hair quickly, smoothing over the sides where—yeah—a little more gray than before had grown in. “If they do, move out to LA. Plenty of insurance jobs in LA.”

“I don’t think the solution to loss of employment is a costly cross-country relocation, but thanks for the offer,” Eddie said, chuckling a little bit. He talked a while more about work, then asked how Richie’s writing was going as he worked out material for his next tour. That carried them on until they reached Eddie’s apartment.

Once inside, Richie couldn’t help himself but to wrap Eddie up in another hug as soon as the door was closed. Here, in the privacy of his apartment, Eddie was a little more reciprocating. Richie was happy just to have a hug be returned by Eddie—Eddie! Eddie who he had been missing way too fucking much—and didn’t expect it when Eddie nuzzled his cheek tucked his mouth into a kiss. It was small and awkward, almost like an elementary school kid’s peck on the lips at recess, and then he was bashfully backing away towards his sink to get himself a glass of water. He gulped down the glass and then refilled it, sipping from it more casually now before asking Richie if he wanted anything to drink. 

It was in that moment Richie understood that Eddie seemed just as uncertain about what they were as Richie. Did they hug? Did they kiss? Were they dating? Richie could’ve just shrugged and told him, ‘Your guess is as good as mine, buddy.’

Richie accepted a cup of water and hung out by Eddie’s sink, talking about the weather and teasing Eddie for having a lot of herbal tea left over that Richie had bought him.

“Someone’s been drinking all his caffeine in the evening,” Richie said, nudging the two empty jars that sat by the most filled herbal ones. 

“I work late,” Eddie said, cheeks flushing a bit like he’d been caught doing something wrong.

“You need your rest,” Richie said.

“Well, I’ll drink some herbal tea tonight when we get back from dinner.”

“Only if you let me brew it for you,” Richie countered, smiling as the words had Eddie ducking his head and looking bashful. Yeah, Mr. Self-Sufficient over here sure seemed to like it when someone doted on him.

“I guess if you’re not too drunk to work the kettle.”

“I won’t get too drunk to work the kettle,” Richie said, rolling his eyes and taking another sip of water. “It’d be a waste to come all the way out here and black out on you. I wanna make the most of it.”

Eddie, seeming to want to ignore that statement all together, smiled and tacked on, “Well, I got us stuff to make smoothies in the morning this time. I can make that one that tastes like chocolate cake for you if you want.”

Richie could’ve squealed he was so happy. Fuck yes, that sounded amazing.

A little while later and the two of them were sitting on the couch, catching up while checking their phones for Ben and Beverly’s texts saying they were ready to meet up. Richie selfishly loved every second that passed without hearing from either of them, enjoying too much just sitting in Eddie’s presence. He was more animated now—vibrant and snarky instead of sick and frightened. It kind of reminded him of how Eddie had been that morning in the hotel, all sassy and angry and defensive. Only this time Eddie wasn’t angry or skeptical of him. 

He did, however, keep holding up his hand to his cheek, trying to cover up his scar—or intentionally holding his head in a way that kept it out of view. Richie didn’t know how yet, but he silently made it his mission to get Eddie to stop being self-conscious about it. It didn’t look _bad._ It really did have him looking like some kind of action star. If anything, on the streets of New York it had to give him some street cred. And in the boardroom...fuck, people would definitely mistake him for a mafioso. 

God, truthfully, if Richie didn’t know how it happened and know the horror behind it, it would be hot as fuck. He looked like a goddamned New Jersey gangster and Richie couldn’t get enough. Fuck, the things he might even lower himself enough to do to get Eddie in a pinstripe suit for a little 1920s roleplay. Hell, Richie would even bottom for a roleplay like that. 

Would Eddie be up for that? A little switch? 

Fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking about that. A kiss and a spur of the moment handjob didn’t mean jack. And it _definitely_ didn’t mean Eddie wanted to start having roleplays with him—having fucking _scenes_ with him. Least of all scenes that involved the scars he was so self-conscious about.

Even so, if Eddie grew out his stubble a little, it’d be harder to see and, somehow, even more attractive. Though, deep down, Richie would’ve preferred his face without it. He would’ve preferred him safe and spared that horror and being reminded of it every time he looked in the mirror.

Inevitably, though, the texts came through and they were getting up and getting ready to leave. Eddie changed clothes into something that looked like what he’d wear to happy hour after a day at the office and Richie was left feeling like a slob because he refused to change into anything nicer than his yellow and red Hawaiian shirt. He probably should’ve changed because Ben was rocking that same happy hour look and Beverly always looked stunning, even in dark jeans and a white top. Always the most put-together one—though Eddie was giving her a run for her money.

“Look at you! That shirt looks great on you!” Beverly said, hugging Eddie outside the restaurant before she even said hi to Richie. He hugged her back, smiling bashfully when they parted and she tugged at the rolled cuff of his sleeve. “And to think you didn’t want to buy it.”

“Well, you know it’s hard for me to wear grays. They wash me out—”

“They do no such thing,” Beverly said, rolling her eyes at him before she made her way to Richie to hug him. She asked him about his flight, almost out of formality, then turned her attention back to Eddie who was re-folding the cuff of his sleeve. 

It was strange to see them interacting. Richie wasn’t exactly jealous, but it certainly caught him off guard to see how close they were. He knew she and Ben had been making sure to include Eddie in their outings, trying to bring him out of his shell and keep him from isolating himself after the attack. It was important, Beverly said, that Eddie knew he wasn’t alone—and knew that he was worthy of friends besides Ben. 

Mark, it seemed, had kept Eddie almost exclusively to himself and had chased off every single other person Eddie had had in his circle before they’d started dating. The one person he couldn’t get rid of was Ben, because Eddie saw him every day at the office and Ben wouldn’t allow Eddie to shut him out. Ben and Bev were inseparable, so the most natural course of action seemed to be inviting Eddie out on their dates—museum visits, new restaurants, new markets and stores. They kept Eddie out and active, and it was so strange for Richie to see them interacting…

It felt like they’d all known each other for years except the damned butterflies that welled in Richie’s chest whenever he looked at Eddie or caught Eddie glancing at him as they waited for a table at the restaurant. Big brown eyes… God, Richie was in fucking love with them.

Finally, Hanscom Party of Four was called for its table, and Eddie had captured the hostess walking them to their seat in a “Very Serious”™ conversation about his allergies and who he needed to talk to besides their waiter in order to be safe. Richie, who had never once gotten to take Eddie on a proper date anywhere, was a little floored by how rapidly Eddie spouted it all out, like a speech he’d memorized and was reciting as quickly as he could. Ben and Bev, however, seemed unfazed by the spiel and made polite chatter with each other as they sat down. Motherfucker Ben even pulled Beverly’s chair out for her. Smooth… Classy. Alright, Mr. Handsome Hanscom, you passed Nice Guy Test No. 1. For all his good looks and money, he still wasn’t good enough for Beverly, but it was up to her to decide if she was willing to settle for someone human. A woman like her, shit… She deserved a fucking demigod. 

Richie guessed a mortal would have to do.

“They’re going to mess up my food. I just know it… I just know it,” Eddie said, covering his scarred cheek with his hand while looking around at all the other patrons in the restaurant.

Before Richie could even get a word in, Beverly was letting out a sigh and rolling her eyes.

“That’s what you said at the last place, Eds. And did you get sick then?” She asked, a soft, mothering inflection in her voice that usually preceded a nasty jab whenever it was directed at Richie.

“No,” Eddie said, sounding every bit like a little boy in trouble for not wanting to eat the veggies on his plate.

“Exactly. Don’t get yourself all worked up. It’ll be fine. If they poison you, Richie’ll kill them, right?” Beverly asked, smiling a devilish and wicked grin at Richie was froze up under it. 

“I… I guess? I mean—I mean, yeah! Duh! I’d be kinda pissed, too, if I finally got to see Eddie without one foot in the grave and they go and bury him with fuckin’ peanuts or something.”

“Shit! I forgot to mention my nut allergy!” Eddie said, peering around for the hostess again, turning halfway around in his chair as he did.

“Eddie, the hostess doesn’t make the food. Just tell the waiter,” Ben said. Cold and direct. It worked, though. Richie wasn’t the least bit surprised when Eddie let out a nervous huff and turned back around in his seat. Ben, whether wittingly or not, spoke like a Dom—and Eddie caved to it in an instant.

So, when the waiter came by a moment or two later to get their drink orders, Eddie began his “Very Serious”™ speech and made sure to reiterate that it wasn’t _just_ peanuts and tree nuts, but all nuts—especially peanuts _and_ cashews.

“And—And I know it’s the new big thing or whatever to be ‘allergic to gluten,’ but I _am._ I will get sick. And I mean _real_ sick—”

“No, I get it, sir,” the young man said, nodding his head vigorously. “My sister has Chron’s and they say Celiac is a lot like Chron’s so I wouldn’t want to do that to anybody. So I’ve got it on the sheet, right here. See? ‘Nuts – All,’ ‘Gluten – ALLERGY,’ all caps. See? And ‘Soy + Dairy ALLERGY.’ Is there anything else? Egg or anything? We only use vegetable oil for frying, not soy or peanut...” 

Eddie looked like a man who had just been told he the cancer results came back negative—so relieved and damned near giddy. Having a server who actually cared put him at ease, and he was able to order a cucumber lemonade without any more “Very Serious”™ discussions. 

“I told you I wouldn’t let you come anywhere that would kill you, Eds,” Beverly said once the waiter was gone. 

“I know, but you just never know with these places. Sometimes they say they’re allergy conscious and then next thing you know my throat is closing up like that one time at Casa de… What was it Ben? Casa De—”

“That was Chez Marquise and it was two years ago,” Ben said, shaking his head a bit. “And if you remember, you sued them and won.”

“How did you sue them and forget their name?” Richie asked, glancing at Eddie who looked almost guiltily down at his place mat. 

“If it’s not a number, Eddie can’t remember it. Stats and dollar amounts. That’s what he’s good at,” Ben said. “I bet you remember exactly how much you got, don’t you?”

Eddie mumbled a quiet, “Thirty-five thousand and medical expenses.”

“Oh my God! How bad did you get sick?” Beverly exclaimed cringing.

“Uh… Well, I forgot my EpiPen that night. I have it now, though… Just in case.” He patted his pocket and looked at Richie, as if he thought Richie were going to make fun of him for having it. 

“It was that bad?” Richie asked.

“My, uh, throat almost completely closed. My eyes swelled shut. I think I even still have a couple scars on my neck from the hives.” He probed at the angle of his jaw just beneath his ears, bringing Richie’s attention to a faded white mark he had never noticed before.

“Jesus. Should’ve sued for a million.”

“You have to die to get a million,” Eddie said, smiling like he’d considered the amount before settling on a ‘measly’ 35k. 

Shortly after that conversation ended, their drinks had arrived and Eddie was happily sipping on his cucumber lemonade (which sounded _disgusting_ in Richie's humble opinion as veggies didn't belong in lemonade) and Richie was happy with his bourbon on the rocks while Ben and Beverly sipped beers from appropriately shaped glasses. The topic shifted to Beverly’s show the following day, her plans and nerves and who she hoped to impress—who she hoped dropped by to see her collection. The whole time, Ben listened and smiled at her like a love-struck moron and, once again, Richie and Eddie were left looking at each other and trying not to laugh at their friends.

When their waiter came back to take their orders, the young man made a point to show Eddie that his was even on its own special ticket with all his allergies listed again—same all caps, same everything. He was really working for that tip and Richie wasn’t going to leave him hanging so long as his not-boyfriend boyfriend didn’t get sick. 

The way Eddie looked to him, as if in fear or in search of approval, as their food hit the table had Richie fairly certain that by the time he left the city, he’d have a more solid title. Eddie’s meal was carried by a different server on a different tray, ensuring no cross-contamination. It seemed to make him so happy, and his face lit up to see him concerns being taken seriously instead of mocked. The woman carrying the special tray explained and reassured, giving the impression that she was the manager or perhaps even the kitchen manager, going over each item and how they knew it was safe. Salmon drizzled only in olive oil and seasoning, garnished with herbs fresh from the cooler—not from the line. The red skinned potatoes had been pan fried in olive oil with freshly minced garlic on clean cutting boards with clean knives. All the spices and seasonings were assured gluten free. As such, the asparagus on his plate was also carefully prepared to avoid any contamination. 

The more she explained, the happier and more relieved Eddie looked—which was probably why she had carried on as much as she had. Woman probably thought Eddie hadn’t eaten out a day in his life...or maybe she knew about his suing the fuck out of Chez Whateverthefuck.

Once she was gone, Eddie fixed Richie with a timid glance—his smile starting to look guilty like he thought Richie was about to reprimand him.

Fuck, Mark probably gave him shit for his little “Very Serious”™ spiels at restaurants and for being concerned about his safety and health. 

Determined to be nothing like that fucker, Richie smiled back at Eddie’s nervousness in a way he hoped was reassuring and friendly. 

“Looks like I can stay out of prison for at least another two hours. I make no guarantees for after I’m drunk,” Richie said, getting a nervous chuckle from Eddie.

“If you get arrested for peeing in public again, I can’t be your friend anymore,” Beverly said, winking at him. This got Eddie’s huge eyes to go wide, like that idea truly had him baffled.

“Okay, but I’m not twenty-three anymore, Bev. I’m a little past that now. And, for the record, I didn’t get arrested. I just...sat in the car for a while until something bigger and better popped up.”

“Bigger and better?” Eddie asked, pausing just before taking a bite of salmon into his mouth. 

“Look, all I’m saying is I was in the car and they were running me and then all these buzzers start going off and their dispatch is talking to ‘em and they kicked me out of the car with a warning.”

“Yeah, but you were in there for like half an hour,” Beverly said.

“One of the few times in my life I knew to keep my mouth shut,” Richie said, smiling as Eddie rolled his eyes.

He looked good in the dim light of the restaurant. Like he fit in with the tacky, ritzy décor. Like a mob boss. Like a real gentleman. He looked better now than ever before—healthy for once. Happy, too. Before long, he was down two glasses of cucumber lemonade and a glass of water and was politely excusing himself to the restroom while Richie was finishing off his second bourbon on the rocks.

“So…you thinking about keepin’ him?” Beverly asked, flicking her eyes across the table to Richie who almost choked on his drink.

“Keeping him? I… What? Like in my apartment? I kind of think work’s gonna miss him if I do that,” Richie said, laughing nervously because there was no way in hell she of all people didn’t know he was so fucking desperate to keep Eddie that he’d fly across the country at the drop of a hat to buy him tea. 

“Well, with the way he talks, he’ll be fired on his day off,” Ben joked. 

“What’s with that?” Richie asked, looking to the other man for any insight he had at all. “I mean, all he talks about is work. Is he really that at risk? I mean—”

“No, he just gets himself worked up. He’s been telling me every day he’s probably getting fired on Friday since his first day in the building.” 

“I’m sure Mark had something to do with that,” Beverly weighed in, shaking her head.

To that, Ben only nodded, which was fine. Richie preferred to get his information from Eddie himself. It was no surprise to him at all that Mark was behind Eddie’s insecurities. 

“But you’re keeping him though, right?” Beverly asked, unfairly as Eddie was crossing the room to come back to their table.

“Uh… Yeah? Yes?”

“Good. Because we spent two hours picking out a shirt for him to wear tonight.” 

“Really? Two hours?” Richie said, grimacing in the face of Beverly’s smirk. Ben snorted before taking a sip of his beer. All Beverly did was raise her eyebrows as Eddie sat back down, replacing his napkin in his lap and grabbing for his glass of water. 

“What’d I miss?” He asked after taking a sip. 

It was a plain gray shirt. Why in the fuck did it take him two hours to pick a plain gray shirt? 

Why did Eddie think he needed a fancy button-down shirt to impress a man who was wearing a faded, 100% cotton Hawaiian? Richie would’ve liked him just as well in his black sweater and athletic pants from that night at the club. Why did Beverly let him spend two hours picking out _that_ shirt?

( ) ( ) ( )

Richie had smiled at him when his plate was brought out on its special tray. In fact, Richie smiled the whole time the manager explained to him how carefully everything was prepared to make sure his meal was safe. Richie didn’t make a jab after she’d left or tease Eddie about his food, or interrupt conversations every few minutes to ask Eddie, sarcastically, if he needed his EpiPen. No, Richie just smiled at him and asked him, after a few bites, if it tasted okay “without all the poison.” Even then it wasn’t malicious or cruel—just Richie being...Richie.

He didn’t get angry upon hearing that Eddie had gone out shopping with Bev and Ben. He didn’t ask for too many details about who was where and when as Beverly talked about the museum they visited. Richie kept saying he was jealous—that he wished he could’ve been there—but he never _acted_ jealous. He didn’t pout or sulk or snap that Eddie was having ‘so much fun’ without him. 

Thank God… Oh, thank God.

Eddie had worked himself up to the point of being sick the night before, worried of how this previously nice man might react to him now that he wasn’t in peril and in need of care. Eddie wasn’t sick this time and didn’t need to rely on Richie for anything. He expected that to change something—to ignite something. He expected, at the very least, for it to shake off Richie’s Nice Guy mask and reveal the sadist underneath. But no… Richie just smiled and laughed and had a great time at dinner.

He smiled as they walked down the street from the restaurant to a cocktail lounge a few blocks away. 

“Are these buttons made of real wood?” Richie asked him, startling him just a little as the man grasped at one of the buttons in the middle of Eddie’s chest—plucking at it gently to feel the texture. 

“Uh—yeah, I think so,” Eddie said, unable to hold back his nervous laugh. 

“Cool! I like it. I like them. It’s a nice shirt.” Richie flashed him a smile that very nearly had Eddie melting into a puddle of pathetic goo mixed in with the blackened bubblegum and other filth on the sidewalk outside the cocktail lounge. 

The shirt _did_ work! The thought had Eddie on cloud nine the whole time they sat at their long, narrow table waiting for the server to bring the first round of drinks. 

As the night went on, Eddie kept waiting to see different traits come out. Especially the more and more alcohol Richie consumed. He’d seen Beverly drunk and though she became even more of a spitfire than she was when sober, she was still funny and nice. Ben was an affectionate, albeit loud, drunk. Richie...Eddie still expected to see him turn aggressive or demeaning or harsh. 

He wasn’t, though. He wasn’t anything like Mark. He got drunk and giggled more shrilly and obnoxiously at his own jokes and Beverly’s snarky comments. He scooted closer to Eddie but never touched unless Eddie touched him first, and even then kept it to hands on the shoulder or an arm around his shoulders. He never touched him beneath the table except the one time he grabbed his leg to keep his balance when he almost fell (theatrically) from his chair while laughing at his own joke. 

Even then, he didn’t grip hard enough to hurt. 

Eddie didn’t know if that was a good thing or not as he found himself playing over that sensation again and again in his mind. Richie’s hot hand squeezing him just above his knee. Yeah, he wouldn’t have minded it just a little higher or a little harder—but maybe not in public though. Maybe later tonight if Richie weren’t too drunk to see straight. 

That was his concern for a little bit, but just before he thought he might need to say something, Richie started ordering water and calming himself down. He ‘didn’t want to pass out in the booths’ he said. 

“And as much as I’d love for you to carry me home, I don’t think you wanna carry my fat ass home,” Richie said immediately after that, cackling at himself.

“For the ten-hundred-millionth time! _You,”_ Beverly said, waving a very unsteady finger at Richie, “are not _fat!”_

“And _you,”_ Richie said, copying the same woozy gesture, “have not seen me naked. You don’t know how many pairs of Spanx I have on under here to keep everything from flop—”

“I _literally_ saw your hairy belly when we were walking down the sidewalk. You don’t have Spanx on.”

“Fuck… You’re _right!”_

Ben rolled his eyes and was giving Eddie a look the seemed to say, “Really? This guy? This is the one you want to end up with?” All Eddie could do was smile a bit and shrug. 

A little bit later and they were piling into the car, Richie in the front seat sulking that Eddie wouldn’t let him twist around to face the back and keep talking to Bev. This led to a defiant, “Fine, guess I’ll just stare at you then.” Which meant Richie really did look at him most of the drive to Beverly’s apartment building where she and Ben got out. 

“Take care of him, Eddie. I don’t want him hungover at my show!” Beverly said before waving him goodbye and linking her arms with Ben’s. 

“If I’m hungover at her show, she will _literally_ kick my ass,” Richie said before chuckling and leaning his head back against his seat. “I really like that shirt. Where’d you get that shirt?”

“Macy’s?” Eddie answered, feeling his face heat up a little. He was so happy the shirt had actually gotten such a reaction. It wasn’t that different from any of his others besides the wooden buttons and soft gray color. Usually he stuck to whites and light shades of blue—maybe even a yellow here and there. Black if he was trying to impress someone. (Now, though, black shirts and suits just made him think of the mafioso image Richie kept mentioning about him.) He didn’t expect the gray to be such a hit.

“Well you should shop there more. And Calvin Klein. I really liked that suit…”

“I do _not_ own a Calvin Klein suit!” Eddie said, grimacing at the thought. 

“What? I thought that was… The blue one?”

“My _Armani suit!?_ Armani!? You thought _that_ was Calvin Klein!?” Did it fit him that poorly!?

Only now Richie was giggling at him again, sounding like a damned monkey. “You should see your face. Haha! Beverly told me if I so much as _mentioned_ Calvin Klein, you’d shit your pants. Fuck, she was right!” This got him laughing even harder and Eddie felt himself blushing as Richie had a good laugh at his expense.

Somehow, it didn’t even sting the way it usually did when Mark would taunt him like this—making fun of him for his expensive taste and “skewed priorities.”

“Aw, don’t be mad. I just love it when you get all worked up. You look so fuckin’ cute. Sorry. Shit, sorry.” He was trying to stop laughing and doing a terrible job. “Anyway, that blue one is my favorite. And this _shirt_ is my favorite. And _you’re_ my favorite.”

“Lucky me,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes so he didn’t look as fucking giddy as the drunken compliments made him. He really was too old to be taken in by drunken flirting, but after so long with Mark—after so long fishing for the smallest bit of praise or positive attention outside the bedroom—it was fucking nice. It was so fucking nice to have his _shirt_ complimented and not just his pain tolerance or his non-existent gag reflex. Yeah, Mark paid him plenty of compliments in bed when he wanted to drag a scene out longer than they’d discussed and negotiated going in. ‘Oh, just ten more, I think… You take the belt so well.’ Ugh, even thinking about it now made his stomach sick.

“Do you have band-aids at home?” Richie asked, yanking Eddie out of his spiraling thoughts.

“Yeah… Why?” Eddie asked, glancing over at him where he was squirming around in the passenger seat. God, help him he wasn’t bleeding all over the interior.

“’Cause if I hit on you any harder, it’s gonna leave a mark.”

“Okay, I’m gonna pull over and you can walk,” Eddie said, unable to bite back his own laugh—which quickly turned to a grimace as Richie started trying to sing _I’m Gonna Be_ by The Proclaimers in the worst, out of key, faux accent Eddie had ever heard. 

It was his own fault, Eddie told himself. It was his own fault he was stuck in the car listening to this mess. He was the one who agreed to give his phone number to the guy in the fancy suit who brought him tea and made tea puns for two hours… Did he really think the quality would improve from there?

They got back to his apartment and Richie was practically skipping up the steps of the building and down the halls. He didn’t seem like a drunken fool, but his inhibitions had definitely been thrown to the breeze. Richie seemed beyond giddy—happy just to be in Eddie’s presence—and Eddie still hadn’t quite become accustomed to that yet. Every hour that passed, he expected Richie to get used to seeing him. He expected that newness and excitement to wear off. However, it seemed that with more and more exposure to Eddie’s...well, _existence,_ Richie got that much more ecstatic. 

“Okay, okay—don’t wake my neighbors up, alright? They already filed a noise complaint the night I got stabbed.”

“Fuck! Stuffy assholes in this place… Shit! That was still kinda loud. My bad. I have to _pee...”_ He looked guilty for some reason and Eddie just couldn’t help but to laugh at him as he unlocked his door. 

As soon as he was inside, Richie hurried off to the bathroom and Eddie was left locking up the door—double checking it—and then going into the kitchen. Tea, he thought, sounded fitting and _perfect._

He had purchased an additional steeper since having just one worked when neither Ben nor Mark ever wanted tea when they were over. Now, having Richie sometimes in his space, it had seemed like a good idea. Apart from the shirt (and the ingredients for the chocolate smoothie Richie liked), it was the first thing in Eddie’s apartment that was specifically _for_ Richie.

Ah! He should’ve gotten him a mug. A special mug for tea that had some shitty pun on it or something… He had gotten _Mark_ his own mug (which he had since thrown away), why hadn’t he gotten one for Richie?

Eddie was filling the steepers with tea leaves while the water in the electric kettle started to gurgle, focused on getting the right amount in the silver mesh. He’d just gotten the second one closed when he heard Richie come into the kitchen. He was mumbling to himself about his shoes, something about how he forgot to take them off, but making enough noise to not be mistaken for ‘sneaking around.’ 

A few moments later and his shoes were off, next to Eddie’s on the mat by the door, and then he was noisily making his way into the kitchen. He wanted Eddie to hear him, obviously, and then still said, “It’s just me. Hi, it’s me,” as he wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist and placed his chin on his shoulder. 

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Eddie said, biting back a smile. “Careful, I need to pour the water.”

“Oh… Okay.” Richie pulled his hands back to rest on Eddie’s hips and pressed a kiss onto his cheek—right over his scar. “I’ll leave the master to it.” He pulled away and Eddie’s hands came to caress his cheek, tracing the uneven line of the scar with his fingertips. Having Richie kiss him there… It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected Richie to acknowledge the blemish or try to act like it didn’t detract from Eddie’s looks, but somehow having him kiss it just...it made him feel like maybe the scar _wasn’t_ so bad. Richie didn’t over do it, didn’t do it quickly and pull away. He just...kissed it. So naturally…

“Do you want to watch a movie? I can pick a movie—or you can. It’s your apartment. Eds can pick the movie,” Richie said, words slurring just a little bit. He was drunk, but not entirely wasted or gone.

“You can go ahead and pick one. I picked the tea,” Eddie said, smiling for him as Richie seemed to hesitate in going over to the shelf of DVDs. 

“Okay,” Richie said, smiling at him for a second too long to just be casual. Then he was scurrying over to the DVDs and looking them over. “What’s _Robot and Frank?_ Is it like a documentary on automated hot dog systems? Automated...hot dog, uh, hot dog assembly lines?”

“No,” Eddie said, laughing despite himself. How did Richie even come to some of the conclusions he did? “It’s about an old cat burglar whose son buys him a, like a...home health aid robot. It takes place in the future. It’s a Sundance award winner!”

“Oh—that means it’s good then! And it’s got Susan Serand—Serin… Fuck.”

“Sarandon?” Eddie offered.

“Yes! I like her. Okay— _Robot and Weenie_ it is!”

Eddie rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the tea he was steeping more so than Richie drunkenly fumbling with his Blu-ray player. A little while later and they were both on the couch, Eddie having finished his tea and finding himself just daring enough to lay himself down with his head in Richie’s lap—a throw pillow acting as a buffer to keep it from feeling, to Eddie at least, like an invitation for more. 

Sometime, maybe, but not now… Not soon. Especially not mouth stuff. 

Except kisses. Eddie found himself absolutely melting for those against his better judgment. Any time Richie leaned down to kiss him, Eddie was helplessly turning into it and kissing back. Richie’s fingers were caressing his scalp and twirling locks of his hair—breaking apart all the spots Eddie had fixed together with hair products in an attempt to look good at the nice restaurant. 

“Hey,” Richie said, staring down at him with the lazy smile that made Eddie’s heart skip a beat.

“What?” Eddie asked, making sure his voice came out annoyed to mask how warm and fuzzy his chest was feeling.

“You look even better when you’re not dying on me. You outta keep it up for a while.” Richie smirked at him, but his eyes looked soft and warm—deep blue ponds Eddie wanted to dive into and stay submerged.

Assuming, of course, the ponds didn’t have bacteria or flesh eating amoebas…

No, nothing in Richie’s eyes looked menacing or cruel. Just tired and happy and sweet. Mark had never looked at him quite this way… 

“Okay, I’ll try,” Eddie said, smiling up at him—unable to help himself. “I’m surprised you still like me when I’m not a big, helpless mess.”

“I mean, I don’t have any opposition to big helpless messes, but I’d like to be part of the reason you’re a mess next time. Like, you know, a wet, soapy mess in the bathtub or tied-up, helpless—”

“Don’t go getting yourself worked up. I’m not...I’m not quite ready for ropes and whips right now.”

“Oh… So is that a yes on wet and soapy?” He honestly looked like he was getting his hopes up and Eddie couldn’t help but to laugh.

“No. Two grown men can’t fit in my tub.”

“Well, who says I have to be in the tub with you? I can just sit naked on the floor or something. Rub my ass on the bathmat.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Well, how about a shower then?” When Eddie didn’t answer right away, Richie tacked on, “Or you can tie me up to the bed. I’m a switch, by the way. I like whatever. Well, not _whatever,_ but you...I like you.” 

Eddie chuckled at him, noticing how his face got a little red like Richie thought he’d outed himself or spilled some great secret. Mark had let Eddie be on top of him maybe once or twice their whole relationship and...neither time went that well. He doubted things would be any better with Richie, but the man looked willing enough to try. Like Eddie needed more intrusive fantasies!

“Is that how you’re telling me you want to take a shower after this?”

“Is that an invitation?” Richie asked, a wicked grin spreading across his lips because he fucking knew it was. Eddie stayed still and silent until Richie leaned down again to kiss him. 

Why couldn’t every night feel as perfect and carefree as this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was supposed to be more to this chapter than there is, but I fell into a fluffhole. I tell myself fluff is important in this because it shows their growing trust and how comfortable they are with each other now, so it's less jarring when they eventually do turn into their devious little kinkster selves. (Which they will. It's coming; I promise. I just want...need...to see Eddie comfortable and happy and safe first.)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I don't think they drink tea in this chapter. In fact, there's no reference to tea at all. I am very triggered by this. I have failed in my Eddie Drinks Tea! The FanFic duties.

To Richie, waking up felt as if he were still deep asleep, enjoying the most beautiful dream. Eddie was at his side, awake and silently scrolling through his phone—not aware he was being watched. He was a blurry smear of human, but breathtaking even so. Richie watched him a moment or two longer before reaching over to caress his arm…

Which effectively caused the man to flinch and drop his phone on his face.

Smooth…

“Fuck! Good morning. Jeez.” Eddie grumbled as he rubbed at his face, his phone now placed on his chest.

“Sorry,” Richie said, voice cracking a bit with sleep. “My bad.”

“I wondered when you were gonna wake up. I’ve been laying here for, like, an hour.”

“I didn’t realize I tied you to the bed. I thought that was specifically _off_ the table last night,” Richie said, smirking as he squirmed a little closer on the mattress even as Eddie let out an irritable sigh and rolled his eyes. He sure did a lot to make it look like he didn’t enjoy being cuddled when his actions the night before proved otherwise.

After their rather _steamy_ shower, pun intended, Eddie had practically been a part of Richie’s own body as they fell asleep. The last thing Richie remembered was falling asleep with Eddie’s face all pushed up under his neck, one of his arms going numb from Eddie laying on top of it, and half the man’s body weight being concentrated on his chest. He clearly adored the snuggling, something Richie was pretty sure Mark seldom if ever afforded him, and he was not fooling Richie at all acting like he didn’t want to cuddle up this morning.

Unless he was afraid Richie was going to try to squeeze another handjob out of him. As fucking delectable as they were, Richie needed to piss and couldn’t ignore the way his stomach was growling. Maybe later. Ooh, maybe after Beverly’s show. He had one last night in the city and he was quietly, selfishly, hoping it would go out with a bang—in the figurative sense. 

Still, he wouldn’t bring it up himself and he wouldn’t push the issue, too afraid that he’d scare Eddie off or hurt him. The last thing he needed to be worrying about was Richie’s carnal desires when he had his own physical and mental health to fret over. If all he wanted or could offer right now were handjobs, Richie was more than satisfied—because, realistically, he expected nothing at all. Why would someone who got stabbed in the face and the hands and the chest by his last boyfriend want to shack up with another? 

“I’m gonna make the smoothies, okay?” Eddie said, worming his way out of the bed and leaving Richie alone to hug on Eddie’s pillow a moment in protest of his absence before getting himself up to pee. 

By the time he came out of the bathroom—freshened up, shaved, teeth brushed—there was a smoothie waiting for him on the island bar. Eddie was in the process of chopping up kale to throw in on top of the other ingredients in his blender, and Richie made sure the knife was set aside before he pressed a quick kiss to Eddie’s temple and thanked him for the smoothie. 

They had their smoothies while watching the news, then HGTV where Eddie criticized people for their choices in interior design and made the off-hand comment, “I’m so glad you let me watch this stuff. I know it’s probably fucked up, but I actually _do_ feel better after putting these other people down. Call me a sicko or a bully or whatever, but at least I don’t have a fucking teal bathroom, alright?”

“No, I get it, dude,” Richie said. “I don’t know shit about design or trends or fashion. I leave that to Bev, but _that_ is an ugly fucking bathroom.” He left out the fact that it was Eddie’s apartment and he should be free to watch whatever the hell he wanted. 

“Right? Hideous! My mom had awful taste and even _she_ wouldn’t have let that _atrocity_ happen.” 

Richie allowed Eddie to rant and rave about the ugly bathroom, then listened as he went on about his mother’s awful tastes for a good thirty minutes. The more disturbed Eddie seemed by the decorating, the more animated he became—which translated as absolutely fucking adorable to Richie. He really could listen to him go on for hours.

“Ah, sorry. I guess I get a little too into it. I have my own place and we can all see how I decorate it,” Eddie said, gesturing to his completely undecorated apartment.

“Yeah, I always thought it was a little odd that you don’t have any pictures up. Not even a framed headshot of your boss so you can pray to it every night. You know? Because he’s always watching over you?” 

To this, Eddie clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes after he seemed convinced Richie had taken note of his disapproving glare. God, Richie was in Love. Love with a capital L.

They watched television together, sharing a bit about childhoods and parents and bad interior decorating until Eddie was laying with his head in Richie’s lap again—no pillow this time. They stayed that way until lunchtime, watching the Travel Chanel until Eddie said he wanted to make them both something to eat.

“Wait, you’re cooking?” Richie asked, perking up at the thought. The smoothies he made were pretty good. Richie bet a lunch from him would be just as amazing.

“Yeah. Why not? You’ll probably hate it, but I figured you’re always buying me food so I should, you know, return the favor or whatever.” He seemed nervous as he made his way to the kitchen, staring at the closed refrigerator door for a moment or two without moving or speaking. 

It was only after Richie said, “Well, as long as it’s not sea urchin, Brussels sprouts, or three bean salad, I’ll give it a shot.”

“Really? Three bean salad is hard limit—fuck, I meant… You know what the fuck I meant,” Eddie said, his face turning red in the split second before he turned to face the fridge again. Richie had to bite back his laugh, knowing it’d just make Eddie feel worse.

“Yes. If you bring a can of three bean salad into bed, I’ll have to use my safeword. Which is ‘guacamole,’ by the way.”

“That’s too fucking long to be a safeword,” Eddie mumbled, focused on pulling what looked like a raw fillet of fish out of his fridge along with a couple bags of produce and two avocados. 

“Yeah, the only time I used it, I could only get out ‘Guac.’ Ended up with three bean salad _and_ an avocado up my ass.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie said, not even sounding the least bit amused by the joke.

“Okay, okay. But I did only get out ‘Guac’ and my partner understood.”

“So _Guac_ is your safeword. Not Guacamole.”

They bickered about this while Eddie fried up a filet of tuna with the attention and finesse of a personal chef, measuring out all the seasonings by little eighths of a teaspoon. Salt, pepper, garlic powder, and a little bit of some green herb Richie didn’t quite catch. He cooked the filet, then set it aside on a plate to cool while he diced up half of a red pepper and chopped up some long stalks of green onion. Richie watched, maybe taking a sneaky photo of Eddie looking all focused and domestic as he cut up the pepper while pretending to text, and did his best to keep quiet in fear he’d speak up and make Eddie cut himself with the knife.

“You wanna cut these in half for me while I shred the fish?” Eddie asked, poking at the avocado on the counter with one hand while opening the drawer to get some forks with the other. 

“Yeah! Sure, of course,” Richie said, a little startled at being included in the prep. Eddie looked so uncertain when he asked though, like he expected to get snapped at, and it had him thinking Mark was probably less than polite about being asked to perform favors.

Well, Richie was no Mark! And he was going to _prove_ it. He cut those bad boys in half and threw away the pits like nobody’s business!

Eddie had shredded up his fish and plopped it in a bowl with the diced pepper and some of the green onion. Richie smiled at him, waiting for his knife work with the avocado to get him noticed, but it didn’t. Eddie just went over to the fridge to put away the remainder of the pepper and onions (safe in separate Tupperware containers) and came back to the counter with a mason jar half full of some kind of white condiment. Mayo?

“What’s that? Organic whale sperm?” Richie asked, making sure to sound and look curious and not repulsed or concerned.

“Yeah, fresh off the coast of Japan. No. It’s vegan mayonnaise. I made it.” He said this with a proud little smile that made Richie damn near swoon. 

“Made it? How?” 

Richie listened to Eddie tell his story about the recipe he’d gotten from an auditor at work and accept a little sample of the mayo on the end of a spoon (which promptly ended up in the sink to be washed). It didn’t taste quite like the mayo Richie was used to, but it wasn’t _bad._

A couple spoonfuls of it ended in the same dish as the shredded fish. The bowl was given a few more spices and another hit of pepper and some garlic salt, then mixed up to make a tuna salad. Avocados went on the plate, salad went inside the divots on the avocado (still in their shells), and more green onion was sprinkled on the top like a garnish. 

“Fuck, Eds! I didn’t know you were a chef, too. You tryna get me to propose or something? Damn!”

“Yeah, well...don’t get excited until you try it. Apparently I can’t cook for shit, but I thought, you know, what the hell. May as well try it.” 

Richie remembered in that moment something Eddie had told him before, about Mark throwing out his lunch and never liking his cooking. Even if this was the most disgusting meal of his life (which it wouldn’t be because there was no way this tuna salad was going to taste like sweaty slug like the sea urchin his ex made him try had), Richie was going to moan like a porn star for it as he ate it.

As it turned out, the food was pretty tasty. Creamy avocado, flavorful tuna salad that sure beat whatever his mom had made fresh out of the can when he’d been a kid. Texturally pleasing. Fuck. Why did Eddie have to make himself a 10/10 when Richie was more like a 3.5? 

“You don’t have to eat it if it’s gross,” Eddie said, about five times, as Richie scraped out all he could from the avocado shell with his fork. 

“Eds, if you don’t hurry up and eat yours, I’m going to eat it, too. This is fucking phenomenal, man. I don’t even like tuna salad and this is just...this is amazing. This is fucking delicious.”

“You’re supposed to hit the fish with some lime juice but I didn’t have any. Forgot, I guess,” Eddie said, making a passive gesture with his hand. 

“Limes belong in Corona and Margaritas. I am just fine with it as it is.” 

That got Eddie to smile to himself as he ate his own meal. Richie’s one complaint (which he kept to his damned self) was that he was still hungry and that two big globs of tuna salad and an avocado did not fill him up after a liquid breakfast of chocolate cake flavored smoothie.

Maybe after Bev’s show he could get Eddie out to dinner and order a meal fit for a king… Or a cow. Whichever he was. It was a going to be a long night.

( ) ( ) ( )

Eddie made sure the door was locked behind them and then immediately had his hands on Richie’s cheeks, pulling him into the hardest, deepest kiss of his whole fucking life. He didn’t care that Richie still tasted like wine from the dinner they’d had. He didn’t care that he himself probably tasted like steak and baked potato. 

Something had just… Something _happened_ as they’d sat side-by-side at Beverly’s show. Eddie was between him and Ben, watching women walk down a long runway in fancy, odd clothes with Richie’s hand on his knee and just… Out of nowhere, he’d gotten this mad, possessive feeling. He didn’t know how or why—if it was the presence of so many other men of the same persuasion as himself or just a random burst of hormones—but once the feeling struck, it had him on pins and needles the rest of the day. 

There was something of a cocktail party after the show where Beverly walked around with her arm linked with Ben’s and a bunch of other designers and buyers and important guests mingled. Richie was in his nice suit (a different one from the one Eddie saw, and easily more expensive though in desperate need of ironing by the time it came out of Richie’s suitcase) and Eddie was in his—not wanting to look under-dressed at an event surrounding clothes. He still felt out of place with his scarred up face and hands, but Richie clung close to him and…

Men had been _checking him out._ At first Eddie thought they were looking at Richie, but soon it was clear that they were admiring Eddie. When Richie slipped off to use the restroom, Eddie ended up surrounded by three men who all wanted to talk to him, who all wanted to know who he was and who he knew. It made him equal parts thrilled and anxious because Mark used to get violently possessive when other men hit on him and he was scared Richie would come back and do the same—or give him the cold shoulder or chat up someone else while Eddie remained trapped with the strangers.

But then Richie was back and his arm was around Eddie’s waist, staking his claim and it just…it _did_ something to him. The men politely conversed a moment or two later and then wandered away. Other men looked at him. Women looked at him.

He still had it! Eddie, somehow, still had it! They weren’t looking at him pity or revulsion or trying not to be caught staring at his scar like the shoppers at the grocery store or his coworkers at the office. They would look him up and down and then try to catch his eye. 

He was _desirable_ and _taken_ and not in trouble for getting looked at. It was an overwhelming feeling. It had him feeling as if he were on cloud nine, floating away from his body—hot and prickly all over. Even after they linked back up with Beverly, even after Richie had told him a million bad jokes, even at dinner, even on the drive back to his apartment. Richie could feel it, too. Eddie _knew it._

There was look in Richie’s eyes that scared him and delighted him and Eddie felt like he would die, literally _die,_ if he didn’t explore what that gaze had to offer. Richie would be gone by Sunday afternoon. He’d be gone, back to California and all the guys he probably hooked up with out there. It was foolish to give in. It was foolish to do the things he’d already done with Richie before. 

But he couldn’t _stand it_ anymore! He had to have him—had to feel him. Had to. It wasn’t an option.

Had to. Had to. 

He felt manic, crazed, as he worked his lips against Richie’s, letting out moans and sounds he knew he should at least try to bite back. He wasn’t drunk. He had _no excuse_ to act so wanton. 

Richie was moaning into it, too. He had one hand on Eddie’s scarred cheek and the other on his hip, thumbing the waistband of his slacks. 

“I—I brought non-latex condoms. Just in case,” Richie panted, managing a word or two in between kisses.

“Non-latex? Why?” Eddie asked, really not caring. A condom was a condom. At least he wasn’t playing the ‘I’m too big to wear a rubber’ card. Oh, but _fuck_ wouldn’t it be hot if he was? If it ripped while he was trying to roll it on because he was just that big and thick and— _fuck!_

“I thought you’d have an allergy. You’re allergic to the whole damned world.” Still kissing, but his hand was fumbling with Eddie’s belt.

“I’m not but thanks,” Eddie sighed, feeling dizzy at even the smallest bit of pressure against his dick from Richie pulling at his belt. 

It felt like torture to pull away and hurry off to the bathroom to get prepped. His whole body was burning and teeming with nervous energy and his hands shook the whole time that he undressed and folded up his clothes. Parts of his brain were already trying to talk him out of what was about to happen. Other parts were rushing eagerly forward. He was so hard it _hurt,_ his stomach was in knots as he forced himself to slowly go through his normal routine. He needed to be careful—he needed to make sure he was clean and decent and ready and prepped so that even if Richie was fucking awful at prep and stretching that his long, fat, perfect (it really was fucking perfect) dick didn’t rip him to shreds and put him in the hospital. 

It’d feel good, Eddie thought as he stretched himself open while laying on his back in his tub. It would feel amazing and perfect. God help him Richie didn’t ditch him as soon as he got laid. It’d break his fucking heart…

That was a sobering thought, and it put Eddie back into his body as he climbed free of the tub and stripped off his gloves in order to wash his hands. He looked at himself in the mirror—scarred hands, scarred face, scarred chest. Yeah, that image locked him into his body, too. Eddie could still remember what the knife looked like sticking out of him…

“Eds? I… I know you’re busy and this is gonna ruin the mood but, uh...I really, _really_ gotta pee.”

“Right—Right, shit, sorry.”

“No, not shit. Pee,” Richie said, trying to make a joke. Eddie rolled his eyes as he dried his hands and grabbed for a towel to wrap around his waist. He somehow felt indecent without one. He opened the door and Eddie smiled at him nervously, awkwardly. God, he was a mess and Richie was still in his nice suit—tie and all. “God, you’re cute when your hair is wet.” Richie leaned in to kiss his forehead and Eddie swore he died on the spot. He wasn’t used to this. “Need anything from your secret sex drawer in here?”

“No that’s all for...Actually, let me grab the wipes. Sorry.” Eddie’s face heated up again as he opened the drawer, trying to shield the contents with his body as he did so while Richie chuckled at him and made his way over to the toilet.

If he fucking pissed in front of him—oh, God, he was doing it. Oh, jeez. Don’t look. Don’t look in the mirror. Fuck. 

Eddie grabbed the wipes and one of he gloves from the box he had crammed there and shut the drawer as fast as he could before scurrying out of the bathroom and into his room, shutting the door behind him while Richie continued to chuckle and relieve himself. Was that supposed to be a power play? 

Was he into _peeing?_ Because Eddie was not about that. 

Eddie set the packet of wipes and glove down on his nightstand and went through his drawers to get his bottle of lube (the bedroom kind, since he preferred a different brand for self-care and prep than he liked used with his preferred brand of condoms. 

He dwelled on it a moment longer than he should have that the box was opened and that some of them had been used while with Mark… Mark’s hands had been in this box. Mark’s sweat was mixed with Eddie’s, deep inside the mattress.

Eddie needed to buy a new fucking bed. A whole new fucking bed, not just sheets and pillows. 

While Richie washed his hands, Eddie laid back on the bed and tried to get himself to relax. 

Fun. He was just going to relax and have some fun with this cool guy who sometimes came to see him. Cool, sort of funny, cute, goofy guy with a big, thick dick. Eddie could _do_ this.

Eddie chewed his lip as he listened to Richie wash his hands, counting the seconds, and then made sure his face was anything but nervous and afraid when Richie came out of the bathroom.

“Sorry. Didn’t think you’d be into a golden shower,” Richie said, smiling nervously himself as he started taking off his suit jacket and loosening his tie. 

Almost immediately, Eddie was honed in on him—admiring the view. Delighting in every movement of Richie’s body as he stripped off his slacks in this hurried, messy gesture. Eddie half expected him to try bringing the belt into bed, either to playfully whip him or bind him or just to make a joke, but Richie did little more than set it aside on Eddie’s dresser to be covered by his folded slacks and jacket.

“Uh, lights on? Lights off? How do you like it?” Richie asked, grinning nervously again he pulled off his tie.

How would it feel to have Richie’s big, warm hands pinning his wrists still while binding them with a silk tie like that?

“Um… I can, yeah, bedside lamp, okay?” Eddie asked, clipping on the lamp nervously while Richie turned off the overhead light.

“Perfect. Want me to throw my shirt over the lampshade? Make a little mood lighting?” Richie asked as he started undoing his buttons. Eddie kind of wanted to do that… He wanted to unbutton them slowly, feel each and every one, and lean up for a kiss. God, he wanted it, but it was too late. Richie had his shirt off and sloppily folded, then his undershirt was gone and it was just him with his tented, black boxer briefs. “Uh… Okay. Yeah. We’re doing it. Wow!”

Eddie rolled his eyes and had the flashbulb of a thought that this was going to be his future. This man who didn’t know how to be seductive for more than a few seconds at a time, who couldn’t bite back a joke or an odd comment if his life depended on it, was going to be his next partner… Somehow, it was better than Mark who always knew what to do and always knew what to say.

It felt more...real. More natural. It made sense now that Eddie knew every move Mark ever made was strategized and calculated. 

A moment later and Richie was crawling over him on the bed, a gentle hand on Eddie’s cheek tilting his head back into a kiss. Eddie sighed into it, slowly parting his lips and allowing Richie’s tongue to brush against his own. This kiss, unlike the one they’d shared in his foyer, was gentle and soft. It had Eddie sinking further down into his pillows while Richie’s hand pulled his towel to the side to expose his length. He brushed his knuckles against it, just enough to make it twitch and make Eddie gasp, then pulled away to strip off his own underwear.

“Guess it’s not fair if you’re the only one naked here.” He coupled this with a devious smile that Eddie didn’t understand until Richie tossed his underwear aside and then started peeling off his dress socks—one of which he held open over Eddie’s dick as if he were about to roll it on like a condom.

“Don’t you fucking dare. That is _gross,”_ Eddie snapped, feeling that much more annoyed when Richie giggled at him.

Richie discarded the sock, then made himself comfortable at Eddie’s side—leaning over to kiss him before wrapping his hand around Eddie’s aching cock. All it took were a few rough tugs and Eddie was sinking back into the mattress with his legs spreading wider, almost of their own accord. He kept waiting for Richie to climb between them, used to Mark’s rushed passion. 

Eddie wasn’t a man who took lovers, who had a history of partners. He had Mark… He’d had boyfriends, girlfriends back before he accepted who he was, but nothing intimate. Nothing like what he was doing now. Eddie was trained to be what _Mark_ wanted in bed… What if what he liked wasn’t what Richie liked? What if, in this final plunge off the deep end, Eddie wasn’t what Richie wanted at all?

All the vulnerability, all the trust and truth and _openness..._ Eddie didn’t want all that thrown back in his face again. Eddie didn’t think he could stand it if this man he really, _really_ liked decided sex with him was so fucking awful that it was a deal breaker. He couldn’t fucking—

“Is there anything you don’t like? Like, fuck, I know now’s not the time for any of _that,_ but is there, like, anything you hate? Like, I don’t know… Shit. I just don’t want to fuck this up. I really don’t want to fuck this up for us. For _you._ Goddamn. Do you have a ball gag or anything? I need it to keep my fucking mouth shut. Jesus Christ, Rich...” Watching him was like watching a person fall down the stairs, and as absurd as it was, Eddie knew in that moment that he was in good hands.

They really weren’t so different.

It echoed in the back of his head, Richie’s voice saying, _“We fit.”_

“Well, I’m not one for sharing things that go in my mouth, but I think it might help,” Eddie said, smiling as he shifted closer, allowing himself to run his hand over Richie’s bare side—feeling the ripples and dips in his skin. So warm. So soft… Nothing like Mark’s hard, muscled body. It was _nice_ that they were shaped so differently. 

“Really? That’s weird because you sure do seem to like swapping spit,” Richie said, smirking as he leaned in for a kiss that started off warm and soft, just like the man himself, and then made its way deeper and deeper. Before long, Eddie had that huge, thick masterpiece in his hand and was tugging it—his breaths becoming sharp as he imagined how much bigger it was going to feel once it was inside of him. _God,_ it was going to stretch him to his breaking point and Eddie couldn’t fucking wait. “Keep doing that and I’m going to blow my load. Fuck! You’re way too fucking hot for me. I can’t believe this is fucking happening.” 

“Can you, like, process the fact that it’s happening because I’d really like something to actually happen besides you running your big mouth,” Eddie said, annoyed mostly because when Richie talked, his hand quit moving. 

“I told you, it’s gonna take a ball gag.”

“I don’t have one!” Eddie snapped. “I don’t do gags because I already can’t fucking breathe half the time.”

“Oh… Well, shit. Noted.”

Eddie whined and Richie chuckled at him, teasing him for being ‘impatient’ up until Eddie gave him a taste of his own medicine and took his hand away. After that, Richie was much more focused—or as focused as he could be—and finally did get his hands around the bottle of lube and his fingers between Eddie’s legs. 

How had Eddie never noticed or appreciated how big his _fingers were,_ too? By the time the third had been pressed inside of him, gloved per Eddie’s request, Eddie was moaning from the sting and burn—enjoying it way more than he knew he should. He couldn’t help the way his muscles tensed around them, sometimes on their own, sometimes because he wanted to feel that sharp sting as Richie’s rough fingers held him open. Three hardly felt like enough to prepare him, though—no matter how thick and long they were. 

Eddie was equal parts eager and nervous as Richie pulled them slowly out and began stripping off the glove he “didn’t see the point” in wearing so he could roll on the condom. The damned thing looked so stretched thin that it would break! It better fucking not break… 

“I don’t wanna be an ass, but...I brought some condoms, too. And, uh… I know you probably like yours but, um… This looks like it’s going to—well, shit.,” Richie grimaced as his own stupid fingers plucking at the base of the condom caused it to tear where it was already pulled taut. 

Oh, God… It was _that_ fucking fat. Oh, God. Oh, it was perfect. The image kept playing over and over in Eddie’s brain.

“I… My bad?” Richie said, grinning nervously while his face turned bright red. “I’m just gonna get mine real quick. My fuckin’ bad, dude. This happens sometimes. Durex fuckin’ hates me.”

Eddie couldn’t help but to touch himself, watching as the condom joined the glove and wrapper in the trash along with a second wrapper for whatever purple-colored brand Richie’s had brought with him. He was so big it broke the condom (or so careless, or the condoms were expired and losing elasticity, or he did it on purpose) and Eddie couldn’t get enough. 

When Richie was finally back on the bed, new condom in place and dick slicked over with so much lube that it was dripping off onto the mattress, Eddie was panting just from the thought. 

“You let me know if it hurts, okay?” Richie said, moving Eddie’s thighs apart before leaning down to kiss him. It was gentle and soft, then followed by five or six more kisses which trailed down Eddie’s jaw and neck to make him shiver. 

“It’s gonna,” Eddie panted. He hooked his legs around Richie’s hips, the bath towel he’d been using to cover up now sloppily rolled beneath the small of his back to help keep him in the right position. 

“Mm, don’t sound so eager now. I’ll get carried away,” Richie purred, pulling back to line himself up. His voice was different, rougher, and Eddie found that he liked it much, much more that way. The first press of Richie’s cock against him had Eddie’s eyes rolling back in pleasure, his own cock standing at attention and completely ignored. 

Almost immediately, Eddie’s hands were fisting in the pillow beneath his head and straining against the fabric. He hadn’t even taken the tip inside and it was already bigger and better than Mark. 

Mark? Mark who? There was going to be no trace of him left after this. Fuck!

Eddie couldn’t help but to cry out as he was speared open—stretched to capacity just like he wanted and not so sure he could handle it but wanting to. _Fuck,_ he wanted to!

“Breathe. Come on, take a breath or I’m not moving,” Richie said, voice firm and yet somehow still caring—not like Mark. Not like when Mark snapped orders, even when they weren’t having a scene. 

“I—I can’t. I can’t,” Eddie panted, feeling his hole clench despite his best efforts to keep still. It was so fucking huge. It was bigger than the toys he played with—even the plugs used for punishments.

Oh, fuck! How big were the plugs he used for punishments going to be _now!?_

Eddie moaned even louder and threw his head back against the pillow. 

“Is it too much? Do you need more—”

“No! Just—Just hurry. Please, just fuck me. Please fuck me. Please, please.” He didn’t care how he sounded. His chest was heaving and covered in a sheen of sweat, his cock was aching so much that every interested, little twitch felt like a punch, and he could feel his inner walls giving in and surrendering to the new, massive intrusion. 

His legs were even shaking by the time the whole thing was buried inside of him. He’d never felt more fucking full in his entire life. No toy had ever stretched him so far. It felt like he was being fucking fisted by Richie’s cock and he was so here for it. He was so fucking into it, even if it hurt like hell. Maybe, in a way, because it _did._

“God, you’re fuckin’ tight. How are you not fucking screaming? I feel like my dick is caught in a Chinese fuckin’ finger trap.”

“Would you rather...hot dog down a...down a hallway?” Eddie panted, his cock twitching hard enough that a line of precome dripped down onto his stomach. 

Richie shifted a bit over top of him, then leaned down for a kiss on the mouth before he finally started to move. Even the small rocking of his hips had Eddie shivering with pleasure. The tip of cock kept bumping into Richie’s stomach, and Eddie whined each time the sensitive head brushed against the coarse hairs leading down his abdomen. 

Slowly, Richie started setting up a pace—this gentle, deep probing that Eddie melting back against the bed. It was so unlike what he was used to, so unlike what he was used to being _into,_ and yet somehow it was working for him. Before he even realized it was happening, he had starting moving his own hips back to meet Richie’s thrusts and take him deeper. Anytime Richie’s length grazed his prostate, Eddie let out a sound like a wail that had Richie, at first, concerned and then smirking down at him with arrogance.

Yeah, he really looked like a Dom like that. What was he like as a Dom? He was so giving and caring and gentle… What was he like rough? What was he like _cruel?_

“Keep tensing up like that and I’ll start thinkin’ you want it to hurt,” Richie said, moving at just the right angle to get Eddie to cry out—and cause his hole to clench. “Or maybe you do, hm? Something tells me you like when it hurts.”

“I do,” Eddie whined, one of his hands going down to touch himself only to have Richie snag it and put it back up by his head. The flash of pleasure that whited out his brain had Eddie melting in Richie’s grip. 

He would never have asked for it, but it was so, so difficult for him to get off if he wasn’t bound in some way. He depended on it. He needed that feeling of being held and secured—of being helpless and at a stronger man’s mercy. His cock gave a desperate twitch, more precome leaking out onto his stomach to form a hot, sticky puddle. 

Slowly, Eddie grabbed for Richie’s other hand with the one he still had free and guided it back toward his pillow so that hand, too, could be pinned by his head. He wouldn’t squeeze any tighter than the grip for a handshake, but it was enough—it was just enough to make Eddie feel that wonderful sensation of held and pinned. 

The whole time, his hips continued snapping forward, pressing in as far and as hard as he dared (which wasn’t much, but more than enough), and getting just the right angle to brush Eddie’s prostate without hitting it. He was far too sensitive for that and he feared what would happen when Richie inevitably found his mark.

As long as Eddie didn’t get choked for the sound he made when it happened, he guessed it’d be okay. 

The thought struck him and had him so oddly giddy that he almost laughed. All those stupid, horrible things he’d had to put up with to make Mark happy in bed—he didn’t have to do them anymore! He didn’t have to bite lip as hard as he could to keep from yelping Richie finally struck his prostate. He didn’t have to feel guilty and awkward when his stomach made weird noises from the angle he was crushed into—Richie’s stomach was just about as grumbly and loud and neither of them had commented on it. Eddie didn’t have to do _anything_ he didn’t want to. It was such a freeing thought, such an amazing feeling…

He was breathing so deeply, sighing in pleasure when his voice didn’t crack from it. All he had to do was lay still and let Richie pin him down and fuck him. Occasionally, he could squeeze his legs around Richie’s hips to take him in a little deeper, but otherwise he could just lay there and be pleasured by that thick, perfect cock until his eyes were rolling back in his head. 

When he was close, Eddie found himself grinding up against Richie’s stomach to the point that the other man let go of his left wrist in order to, first, scratch his stomach where it apparently itched, then wrap around Eddie’s dick. As soon as there was pressure around it, Eddie felt the last of his self-control slip away. He was a whining, shivering mess and trying to thrust into Richie’s hand while pinned beneath him by his hips and his cock. His hole strained around its girth, twitching now more than ever as he felt his climax start to build.

Richie was panting and grunting in his ear, his face just close enough to Eddie’s that he could rub their cheeks together to get his attention since words had escaped him. What was language? What were thoughts? 

Pleasure—white hot pleasure. He just wanted more. More touching, more friction, more aching and burning. 

He shouldn’t… He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, but _fuck_ what was harm if he just said it? What if he just—

“C-Can I come? Richie? Richie, can I come? Please, can I come?” Eddie’s heart was pounding, his senses in overload as he drank in his lover’s deep moan as his lips dragged over his throat along with the rough scrape of stubble. “Sir, can I come?” He whined, ears straining for the answer as he tried to hold back with every bit of his strength. 

It hurt—it hurt so fucking good.

Eddie didn’t even remember what exactly Richie said, all he knew was that it sounded affirmative and the next thing he knew, he was coming all over himself and Richie’s hand. His body clamped down on Richie’s cock so hard he could feel it pulse inside of him once or twice before everything became a blur.

Every nerve ending in his body was buzzing and he was struggling to get enough oxygen into his lungs in order to see without blinking back flashing lights. He wondered if he’d actually blacked out a moment or two, because he only realized as the very last inch was pulled out of him that Richie had finished—that it was over and they were laying spent, side-by-side on top of the sweat-soaked sheets.

Richie had a wet wipe in his hand that he used to wipe his hands clean and then wiped up the mess on his stomach. A moment later, that wipe was in the little wastebasket and a fresh one was being used to clean up Eddie’s stomach and his overly-sensitive cock which was still just a little below half-mast. He tried to clean Eddie up between the legs, but Eddie forced his hands to cooperate and did it himself—clumsily and awkwardly, and the wet wipe ended up on the floor instead of the trashcan.

That was fine. Whatever. Eddie would clean it up in the morning. Right now, all he wanted in the world was to lay right where he was with Richie hugging him—just like he was—and to go to sleep. His hole was aching terribly and the only real thought in his head was to wonder if it would still be this sore in the morning. 

The morning…

Richie was going to be right here with him when he woke up. No sneaking out as soon as he closed his eyes, no unlocked door threatening him from the next room. 

Eddie whined in protest as Richie pulled away just long enough to set his glasses aside and turn off the bedside lamp. As soon as the man laid back down, Eddie was pressed into his side—not caring if he looked needy or clingy or any of the other negative labels Mark had slapped on him for wanting affection. Richie was hugging him, too, and that was permission enough. That was _proof_ enough.

Eddie hadn’t felt this safe and _wanted_ in a very, very long time—if he ever had at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't write smut without a side of angst and feels. Also, Richie totally broke that condom on purpose. I think it's a power move. Weird flex, but okay. He just really hates Durex, alright? Also, Eddie thinks out loud a lot more than Eddie thinks he does—even when he's not sick. Imagine his mortification when he finds out he say a good 40% of his sexytime fantasies out loud. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Catch you next time on: Oh No, Why Is Eddie In An 11am Meeting? The FanFic!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no tea...I must be sick.

Richie had been sneering down at his cell phone all damned day. Literally, all fucking day. Since the moment he woke up that morning all the way to his ten a.m. meeting, he’d been sneering and smirking and smiling like a fucking idiot. He’d woken up to a reply to his late Sunday night Good Morning text to Eddie to a message that bluntly stated: “Probably TMI but my ass is still so raw.”

If that wasn’t a long distance Welcome Home present, Richie didn’t know what was. 

To him, Richie replied, “Glad to know my work is appreciated,” along with a winking emoji. Then he followed it up with, “At least I hope it’s a good thing.”

He would have fretted about it more if he weren’t agonizingly aware of the pain kink Eddie harbored after their first of (hopefully) many nights sleeping together. God, the sounds he’d made were better than pornographic, and the expressions he’d made...fuck, they were downright obscene. Richie savored a few snapshots of memory from that night at the club—when the other Dom had been playing with Eddie and not Mark—but none of them compared to how he looked up close. Nothing in the world could have prepared Richie for how into it Eddie had been Saturday night.

For the rest of his life, whether he wanted to or not, he would never forget how blissed out and tortured Eddie’s voice sounded as he’d begged Richie’s permission for him to come. He’d done that their first time messing around, too, and Richie privately hoped Eddie needed that permission to get off. It was so fucking erotic, and so fucking perfect.

Eddie had replied to Richie’s text with the drooling emoji and nothing else until his lunch break when he sent another, affirmative, “Saturday night was really fun. I’m really bummed you’re in LA right now.”

They had already had their awkward tip-toeing phase Sunday morning up until Richie’s flight, and then for another few hours after it landed. Eddie even stayed up late to keep texting him, self-conscious and trying not to show it even though it was painfully obvious. It was such an interesting juxtaposition to how bold and vocal he was in the other aspects of his personality to see him so… Approachable? _Vulnerable?_ It was kind of nice to see Mr. Hotshot checking in to make sure a peon like Richie wasn’t disappointed in his sexual performance. 

Well, Richie guessed he wasn’t _technically_ a peon, considering he brought in almost 90k the previous year in salary and royalties and appearances. Not to mention the money he had bouncing around in stock. The world might not know his name the way they knew Leno or Kimmel or Ellen, but they’d know him soon enough. What would Eddie think of him then? What would Eddie think of him when his next tour went through New York and it was his face on a billboard or flashing big on a screen on Times Square? 

Richie guessed it was just nice knowing that they were both _sort of_ Mr. Hotshots who were trying to impress each other.

So, all morning he sneered and smirked and grinned at his phone whenever he wasn’t forced to focus on something boring like writing jokes for other, more famous schmucks. That was, at least, until ten forty-five when his meeting was over and he looked down at his phone to see a missed call from Eddie (he’d remembered to actually silence his phone this time) and four texts.

Was it bad that his first thought was to wonder if Eddie went out for lunch and had gotten another flat tire?

Eds: _It’s happening. I can’t fucking breathe. I don’t know what to do._  
Eds: _I’m getting fired. I am so fucking fired and my inhaler is EMPTY._  
Eds: _Sorry. I know you can’t help. I’m panicking. I can’t breathe._  
Eds: _There’s a literal RAT in this stairwell and I CAN’T BREATHE._

It was in the middle of these texts that he’d called, and Richie noted that he’d missed the last text by twelve minutes. Even so, he took a deep breath and pressed dial, pressing his phone to his ear as he excused himself from the cluster of writers heading back to their collaboration room. Someone jeered at him, and someone else asked if he was okay, but Richie was ducking into a stairwell of his while listening to the static-y, warbling ring and not the words being projected at him.

“Richie!?” A gasp that really sounded fucking bad echoed down the line as Eddie wheezed out his name. 

“Why haven’t you called 911? What’s the matter with you, babe?” Richie asked, grimacing just at the sound of Eddie struggling to breathe.

“Can’t… Can’t be… in an… in a… an ambulance wh—when I… when I’m...getting fired.” His throat sounded like it was damned near completely closed and was tempted to hang up on Eddie and call 911 himself.

“Fuck getting fired, alright? Babe, you can’t _breathe._ I think that’s a little more important. Do you have another inhaler?”

“No...” 

“No? Okay. Well, can you… Shit, can you try, like, breathing exercises or something?”

It took a good five minutes, but with some coaching and comforting words, he managed to get Eddie talked back down to where he was breathing somewhat normally, though he sounded as if he were about to cry.

“Eds, why do you say you’re getting fired? Did something happen? I thought you just got that new assignment to work on.”

“I did,” Eddie wheezed. “I did and...and I _was_ working it. Then my boss...my boss pulled me aside and said...he said they were giving it to Thompson!”

“Thompson? The fucker that fucks everything up?” Richie asked, grimacing because, yeah, that sounded fucking bad. 

“Yeah! That _fucker…_ And… And then he said...my boss said I had to...to meet him in...in the War Room.”

“What the fuck is the _war_ room?”

“It’s where we...where we do big meetings...and conferences...and fire people.” His breathing was picking back up, getting raspier and louder the longer he spoke.

“Shit… Eddie, I don’t know what to say. I’m _sure_ they’re not firing you. You’ve been working so hard.” If they fired him, Richie was going to find out who Eddie’s boss was and beat the man up himself. How could they fire someone who literally just about got murdered? Someone who kept coming to work every day despite how scared and sick he was? How could they do this to him!?

“I know! I… I’ve done...so much and…I feel like… I don’t know what to do.”

“Well… Is your boss waiting on you? Does he know you got carried away by the rat king down there in the stairs?”

“No… They’re firing me at three o’clock...it’s only…it’s only… Well, it’s...it’s almost two.” 

Right away, Richie felt relief course through his veins and he couldn’t help but to tip his head back and roll his eyes.

“Baby, they don’t tell you an hour beforehand that you’re getting the sack. You’re fine. Eds, you’re gonna be fine.”

“You don’t _know_ that!” Eddie cried, voice haggard and worn down. At the rate he was going, he was bout to be sent home from work for being a wreck, but not fired. They clearly wanted to brief him on some bigger, better project which was why they took the other one away from him. 

“Eds, I’ve been fired. I’ve been fired plenty of times! They don’t give you a heads up. They say, ‘hey, come here a minute,’ and then give you the boot. They don’t tell you they want to talk to you later and have you walking around causing problems for an hour.”

Eddie let out a noise that sounded so baffled and so small, like a confused, frightened child and it had Richie melting into the dirty, concrete stairs. It got through to him—Richie’s words got through to him and that was all that mattered. 

“You really...you really think so?”

“Babe, I know so. C’mon. I’m a pro getting sacked. I’ve been fired, like, eighty times.”

“Why? What do you _do?”_ Eddie asked, sniffing loudly. His voice was starting to slowly go back to normal, but his deep, loud breaths were still rough.

“It’s _me._ I fuck around too much. Did I ever tell you I got fired from Taco Bell for sticking the sour cream pouch down my pants and out my fly? Squirted that shit like jizz all over some asshole’s taco supreme.” It was a one-hundred percent fictional story, but it still got Eddie to laugh. 

“Did you really do that?” Eddie asked.

“Do you really put it past me?” Richie asked in return. Eddie made another sound, a sad little groan. “What, did the rat come back?”

“No… Turns out it was a hat someone dropped.”

Richie squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead above the bridge of his nose, trying hard to hold in the laugh. He could just see Eddie in his fancy little suit, his fancy designer shoes, shrieking in fear of a lumpy, gray hat he thought looked something like a rat. 

“Alright, well…I’m glad that crisis is averted. Listen, Eddie, you’re not getting fired, dude. They don’t give you notice. They ask you to come in their office and break the news. Usually, security is there, too. So unless you go in and they’ve got the police force waiting, I don’t think you’re the one getting axed in the War Room. Alright?”

“Okay… Okay, yeah. That makes sense. They wouldn’t want to give me time to go, like, kill people or something. You know, if I was crazy or...or something.” He still wasn’t fully himself, but his asthma attack (or panic attack, which seemed more likely) was over.

“Exactly. See? You’re gonna be fine, babe. Except your ass. Sorry, but that shit’s ruined.”

“Oh, God, it really is… I can barely even sit down it hurts so much.”

“Are you okay? Like… You’re not bleeding or anything?” 

“No,” Eddie said, growling as if annoyed by Richie’s concern for him. 

“Well, that’s good at least. I was a little worried when you blacked out on me,” Richie said, knowing it would get Eddie back into his body—get him focused on anything besides his boss and his worry around being fired. 

“For the last time, I did _not_ black out,” Eddie muttered, sniffing one last time. 

“You totally did. I felt really awkward just fucking your lifeless body there for a minute.”

“Then maybe you should’ve stopped if it bothered you so much,” Eddie muttered.

“You were still kinda moaning, so I took it as consent,” Richie said.

“Yeah, well… Yeah,” Eddie said. “Shit, I need to get back up there or they...they will fire me.” He chuckled then, tiny and nervous—finally seeming to realize how much he’d overreacted. Kind of like with his tire.

If this thing between them panned out, Richie knew he would be dealing with this a _lot._

( ) ( ) ( )

Eddie was still a bit shaky as he made his way back up the stairs and badged his way through the door leading to his company’s floor. He looked around like a spy in a movie, making sure no one was looking in his direction before hurrying to the bathroom and then hiding away in a stall until the man using the urinal hurried up and left—just so he could roll up his sleeves and rinse his face, trying to get the last of the puffiness and redness to go down.

When he finally looked acceptable—not decent but acceptable—Eddie went back to his office and started up his weekly ritual of organizing and prioritizing his emails since he no longer had his big project to distract him. He really, truly was very fucking sore, and every time she shifted in his seat, it sent delicious sparks of pain through his body. It wasn’t so bad now that he wasn’t driving—he could moan a bit and relish it in his car, but it wasn’t worth fearing he’d get a full body tremor and crash. His hole was just so tender and achy and perfect—and just from his dick. Just from Richie’s _dick._ Not a toy, not a punishment, not prolonged hours of play—just his dick. It was that perfect and fat. Truly, honestly, Eddie could not wait for Richie to come back to New York, just so he could visit with that spectacular appendage again…

And, perhaps, a bit because he wanted to see the man attached to it, too.

Richie had been so sweet and kind to him all weekend. So attentive and affectionate and...all the things Eddie had been missing for so, so long. No jabs at his dietary restrictions or picking on him for not drinking, even when he said he wanted to be DD. Richie was just...good to him. It was strange, it was _nice,_ but it was so, so very strange and new to Eddie. He didn’t even realize until...well, until things had gone too far, just how incompatible he and Mark really had been. With them, it always felt like a fight, like a give-give on Eddie’s part trying to be perfect, trying to make Mark happy and keep him happy. 

“We fit,” Richie had told him, sounding just as excited about it as Eddie was. Eddie had been over the moon gone for Mark, mostly based on looks and impressed by his status, but not the same way he was for Richie. There was just something different about him. Sometimes casual and easy and warm… 

Richie _cared_ for him without being overbearing. Richie cared about him and looked after him while making sure he still cared for and looked out for himself. Eddie needed that… He really needed that without the added trauma of getting put down every time he tried to do something like change his tire and failed. 

Before long, Eddie’s emails were all coded and sorted and cleaned up and it was time to meet with his boss in the War Room. As soon as he looked at the clock, Eddie felt his heart rate picking up, the anxiety and fear welling in his chest as he adjusted the lapel of his suit jacket and fussed with the cuffs of his sleeves. He had just stood from his desk when his boss appeared right outside of his open door, knocking on it while popping his head in with no discernible expression on his face.

“You just about ready, Kaspbrak?” He asked, already pulling back by the time Eddie stammered out a nervous, embarrassing yes.

He followed a few paces behind his boss, heart pounding in his chest no matter how badly he tried to keep it calm. He felt that everyone in the office must be able to hear it. Thank God he’d opened his new tube of clinical strength deodorant today or else he was positive he’d be stinking up the place, too, along with overwhelming it with the drumbeat noise of his heart. He could honestly feel the blood as it drained from his face when he came around the corner to the open door of the War Room and saw, behind the still walking form of his boss, the CFO, COO, two directors, and three other people Eddie recognized but suddenly couldn’t name.

His legs felt like they would drop him at any moment, but he managed to keep himself standing upright, probably looking stiff as a corpse, as he walked slowly into the room.

_Now what, Richie?_ he thought to himself. _Obviously, I’m getting fired. Why else are there all these people? What did I do? Oh, shit, what did I fuck up?_ His mind raced with possibilities as he sank down into the leather chair his boss gestured to for him, hardly remembering crossing the threshold to reach the glossy, wooden table. Did his email get hacked? Did he leave a confidential document at the printer? Some of his medications after the attack had him forgetful and spacey; it wasn’t impossible for him to have been so careless and have forgotten all about it.

The door clicked shut behind his boss, but it may as well have been the slamming of a jail cell door. Eddie found himself gripping at his pocket, squeezing the shape of his inhaler through the fabric. Empty… Useless. God help him if he had another asthma attack here in front of all these powerful, intelligent, important men.

“Gentlemen, I believe most of you have met Kaspbrak here,” his boss said, clapping Eddie on the shoulder before dropping down into the seat next to him. 

Eddie didn’t know where to be looking as the different men all greeted him—all looked at him. His eyes traced the table, met their gazes when he was spoken to, then traced the windows looking out at the sea of concrete and steel beyond. He was so completely convinced he was about to get fired, if not arrested, for some mistake he didn’t remember making that put the whole organization at risk. Why else would the COO and CFO be in the same place!?

“Wow, Kaspbrak, have you been shooting action movies on the side?” One of the men Eddie couldn’t quite place asked him, smiling while twirling his pen between the fingers of both his hands. 

“Uh, yeah—No, yes. I, uh, I was invited to be in a stage production of _Scarface._ I guess I took the method acting a little too seriously so they, uh, they cut me from the cast… Unfortunately.” Why was it Richie’s voice speaking in his head and not his own? Eddie felt his cheeks grow hot, even as the men around the table all laughed and his boss clapped him on the shoulder.

Asshole, Eddie thought to himself. He remembered this guy now the more he thought about it. He was a grand-nephew or something of one of the higher-ups and Eddie had always hated him. 

“All jokes aside, I have a meeting at three,” the CFO, John Carpenter, said. “Kaspbrak, can you give me a rundown of our stats for this quarter?”

“The… The quarter, sir?” Eddie asked, eyes going wide as his mind suddenly started racing. If he’d known they’d wanted stats, he would’ve spent that time preparing a presentation, getting a spreadsheet ready. He would’ve at _least_ brought his laptop!

“Kaspbrak is a numbers junkie, Mr Carpenter. Aren’t you?” His boss said, smiling at him—sneering.

Was this some kind of setup to make him look stupid!?

Eddie swallowed hard, squeezing his inhaler through his pocket, then recited all the numbers he could remember off the top of his head. It came easier and easier the more he talked, envisioning the different tabs and pages on his desktop and even bulletins from the emails he’d read while organizing that morning. By the end of it, the men had taken down notes and were nodding along.

“If I’d had a little more notice, I would’ve put together a spreadsheet or a presentation for you, sir. I could make one later this evening and send it over via email if you’d like. It would be no trouble at all.”

Rather than responding to him, the COO stared down at his page of notes and asked, “Are you aware of our other locations, Kaspbrak?”

“Other...locations? Um, yes. Of course, sir. I don’t know all of their stats off the top of my head, though. I could pull a report if you’d—”

“Which locations do you know? Off the top of your head?” His icy, dark eyes locked with Eddie’s and he felt about two inches tall beneath his gaze.

“Well, of the four in New York, I know Queens is the smallest. They didn’t meet their goals for this quarter… Neither did our London office, but I can’t say for sure what their exact numbers were for the quarter. London had a few clients switch over to a competitor, to Advance International...LLC.”

“Those are the ones you know? London, England and Queens?”

“Keeping it royal,” the asshole grand-nephew said, smirking. 

“I know the Los Angeles site has been doing very well. The bulletin I saw last week stated they had exceeded their goals in almost all areas by over twenty-five percent. They’re doing really well. The leadership is said to be phenomenal, and I must agree. The progress they’ve made is incredible. Tokyo, too. They’re only up by seven percent or so, but that’s still exceeding expectations.” Eddie felt a little more confident in himself as the faces around him went back to composed and analytical instead of out for blood. 

“There was a bulletin that went out about expansion in the company. Perhaps you might have seen that one,” Mr. Carpenter said. 

“I… I’m afraid I missed that one, sir. I didn’t see it, no.”

“Good,” his boss chimed in, smiling. “You weren’t on the list.”

They were testing him? Why were they testing him? It felt so damned cruel and he was starting to lose his ability to breathe. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this little prank at all.

“We’re expanding in Los Angeles. The growth we’ve experienced has been more substantial than our solitary office can accommodate for. So, we’ve decided to open a secondary office, a smaller office, to assist with the overflow of clients.” Mr. Carpenter went on and on about specific clients, specific needs, departments that would be contained within the new building that was slated to open in the fall. 

“We understand that you had been in the running for a localized promotion here in New York. Is that something you’re still interested in?” The COO asked. 

Every eye in the room was fixed on Eddie and he found himself swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.

“Well, I… I do enjoy my position. I really enjoy the team and the work that I do, but I have been looking for some opportunities for growth within the company. At… At any capacity. I’ve really enjoyed being part of the team and would love the opportunity to advance in my department or...or even learn some new responsibilities in a different department as well.” He was rambling and he knew it, but what could they possibly expect pulling him into a meeting like this with no prep and no notice? It felt like a dirty trick and he was so anxious and embarrassed he thought he might get sick if his throat didn’t close completely from his impending asthma attack.

“And is that motivation strictly for local endeavors?” Mr. Carpenter asked. 

“Well, maybe not Tokyo. I’m fluent in Spanish, but not Japanese.” Eddie forced a smile, his heart rate picking up again. He managed to slip in that skill without making it sound forced. In fact, he made it sound downright casual.

Los Angeles, he thought. Large Spanish speaking population. Please, please. Promotion. LA. 

_Richie._

“You speak Spanish? Ryan, you didn’t tell us he spoke Spanish,” the COO said, a grin spreading across his face for the first time their entire meeting.

“I guess that detail slipped my mind. Kasprak is full of surprises.” Eddie’s boss smiled at him and Eddie felt his hand finally fall away from his inhaler and now sweat-damp pants pocket. 

“I am fluent in Spanish, yes. Maybe a bit rusty, but nothing some immersion couldn’t fix up right away. I can read and write Spanish as well, so if there’s ever a need to translate a report or anything—”

“Numbers are numbers either way, though, right?” Asshole grand-nephew said, still twirling his pen.

“They could be, but if the column is labeled in Spanish and it’s misinterpreted, I think that could make quite a difference.”

Eddie found his bearings a little more with each passing minute, his confidence growing a little stronger as he realized and became comfortable with the fact he wasn’t getting fired or getting tricked into incriminating himself.

Promotion. They had called him into the War Room because they wanted to give him a promotion. They wanted him in LA. He was the best man for the job in LA because of his experience and commitment and the fact that he took Spanish all throughout college and kept up on it in hopes it might get him somewhere someday. 

“How confident would you feel going with Ryan to implement the new building in Los Angeles, Mr. Kaspbrak? The COO asked. “We’d need you there temporarily, and then perhaps...permanently if the department starts seeing success as our main LA branch has. Is that something you could see yourself doing?”

It was so hard to keep the dumb smile off of his face.

Los Angeles. Promotion. _Richie._

“Absolutely,” Eddie said, heart leaping in his chest. Promotion. Los Angeles. Richie! 

They spoke logistics, they talked expectations. Eddie took notes on the little pad he’d brought with him and tried not to smile like a moron the whole time he did. A raise to account for the increased cost in living (slated to increase to a ten percent raise if the position were to become final), coverage for temporary housing and a meal stipend, rental car—anything he could possibly need. If the move did become permanent, they would reimburse up to two grand for apartment or home leasing deposits. Just for the _deposit!_ The benefits only increased from there. They’d pay for his move—they’d pay for everything he needed to get situated if he proved successful in LA.

Eddie’s heart was so full it was about to burst as he shook hands with the gentlemen who had been sitting around the table as they left for a different room and a different meeting. 

His boss was the last to shake hands with him and clap him on the shoulder.

“You needed some good news, huh, Kaspbrak?” He said, smiling.

“Wish you’d given more of a heads up. I thought I was going to pass out when they asked for stats.”

“Well, we needed to showcase that you can think on your feet. You never told me you spoke Spanish. Why do you hide these things from me?”

Eddie had, in fact, put it on his resume when he applied and had been told it was the one trait which set him apart from another candidate they’d been interested in. For the moment, though, Eddie kept that bit of information to himself. 

He just couldn’t wait to call Richie and tell him. 

LA! Promotion! _Richie!_

( ) ( ) ( )

Richie was grinning like a fool, laying back on his bed trying not to scream in excitement. He’d asked Eddie probably fifty times to pinch him through the phone because he had to be dreaming—had to be! Eddie’s meeting was for a promotion, and not just _any_ promotion. A promotion that would land him in Los Angeles for at least a few months with the potential to be a permanent thing.

A permanent move!

Eddie, in Los Angeles! Eddie, near him. Eddie, within reach.

They could see each other every week—every single night if they wanted! He could invite Eddie over. He could give him tips on the best places to get groceries, the best neighborhoods to live…

The idea had him ecstatic but also feeling nervous, too. What if they were around each other more and Eddie realized he didn’t like him? What if he saw Richie’s small apartment and decided Richie wasn’t up to snuff? Richie had plans to buy a house soon, but he hadn’t picked one or started seriously looking. He had the finances all in order, but he didn’t want to expedite the process just to impress some guy who might dump him a week later. 

Shit, they weren’t even anything official that _could_ be dumped. He could just be cut out of the circle… At any point in time. No notice, no explanation.

However, even with that thought in the back of his mind, Richie couldn’t help but feel excited. Eddie was near. Eddie was going to be closer to him in just a few brief months. They’d be together…

They’d really have a chance for something.

This crazy, wild thing might actually fucking work out. 

Eddie had gone to bed just a half hour ago and Richie was still smiling and clutching his phone, hot in his hand from how long they’d been talking up until Eddie did need to sleep. Richie hadn’t even pulled out of his joy-induced stupor long enough to text Bev.

He wondered if Ben knew. Hell, he probably did. So Bev probably did, too. She was most likely waiting to give Eddie the chance to tell him before sending him a congratulatory text. Richie was sad to know Eddie would be leaving the only two friends he really seemed to have, but there would be plenty of opportunities for him to make new friends in LA. Or, shit, maybe Bev and Ben could relocate. Ben could probably work from anywhere once he started up his own business like he said he wanted to do. Bev could design anywhere. Maybe she could come out to Cali for some seaside inspiration. Well, other seaside inspiration. The West Coast was certainly a lot more pretty than the East, in Richie’s opinion anyway. They should all come. 

It would be so amazing to have his friends all in one place—and to have Eddie close.

It was a fucking dream come true. Eddie in LA. Eddie far, far away from New York, from Mark, from the prison which held Mark, from all the bad memories—and that disgusting, awful club that didn’t vet its performers for shit.

He owed them one, Richie guessed, for introducing him to someone as amazing and wonderful as Eddie, but he hated the circumstances surrounding it. Poor Eddie… 

But! Here in LA, that wouldn’t happen. Richie knew of some clubs, not that he’d ever gone—too afraid of being recognized—but they were certainly better and safer. He could go with Eddie and show him how it should be done. They definitely wouldn’t be performing in any demonstrations, but they could get freaky around some strangers without drawing in a whole crowd. Though Eddie’s looks could probably draw in a whole damned auditorium, even with his scars. If anything, his scars made him that much more attractive. It was a bitch getting Eddie to see it that way though.

Eddie had told him during the interview (could it even be called an interview, what happened it to him? It sounded more like a celebratory ambush in Richie’s opinion) that one of the men in the meeting had brought up his facial scar right off the bat, rude motherfucker. Eddie had played it off, but it still made Richie irritated that someone in a supposedly professional setting would do that to him. It was something Richie would except from his coworkers, not Eddie’s corporate hotshots.

He told Eddie the guy was probably jealous he wasn’t selected to go out to LA—and thank goodness he wasn’t. Richie was more than pleased with the company’s decision.

He was going to have Eddie near, within reach, and they would definitely, absolutely, hook up again. And Richie could not wait.

As the days went on, he found himself cleaning more than usual, found himself organizing and rearranging, buying things that didn’t suit is usual tastes. He didn’t recognize it out right, but once Beverly made the odd comment that it sounded a whole awful lot like he was “nesting,” Richie couldn’t shake the feeling off. Yeah, okay, maybe he was “nesting” like an expectant mother, getting his apartment ready for a guest who wouldn’t be there for several more months, but he couldn’t help himself!

This was _Eddie_ they were talking about! Eddie who had asthma and would die if gluten sneezed in his face. He had to have his home ready and waiting… He had to make it perfect. He didn’t want to mess things up. He didn’t want Eddie to show up for a random week of vacation and think Richie lived like a slob…

Richie couldn’t wait. He honestly could not wait. Fall needed to hurry up and get here. He didn’t care about his tour or his writing or his jobs—all he wanted was to see Eddie. All he could think about was Eddie. 

Texts weren’t enough. Calls weren’t enough. Video chats weren’t enough. He was desperate and addicted and he needed more. 

He couldn’t wait. His heart was so full it felt like it would burst and Richie just could not fucking _wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to develop this chapter more, but it felt like I was just dragging my feet to get them reunited. I just want our boys together. Nothing's the matter with a little time skip next chapter, right? Thanks for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, snap! Reunited and it feels so good!

Eddie remembered how excited and how over-eager Richie had been to see him when he’d gotten off the plane in New York back when he’d returned to the city for Beverly’s show. He remembered how Richie was basically jumping up and down, upsetting his wheeled suitcase over and over as he hurried over to where Eddie had been waiting for him. Eddie had thought in those moments that the guy was crazy, or immature… He thought a lot of things.

But, now that the tables were turned and he was the one getting off a plane in a strange city where he hardly knew more than one person, Eddie was practically running through the airport to greet Richie. He made sure his luggage stayed upright, though. His was, if he dared say so, a little bit nicer than Richie’s and he’d like to keep it that way.

However, he was still bursting at the seams with excitement despite the tranquilizer he’d taken to make it through the stress of the airport. 

Richie was waiting for him with a big, stupid sign like a character in a fucking movie—waving it around and grinning like a mad man as soon as Eddie was in sight. He’d spelled Eddie’s last name all kinds of wrong, but Eddie had an inkling it was done on purpose. (After all, who in their right mind spelled Kaspbrak “Cazbrack”? And, also, his full first name was not Eduardo, and he was fairly certain Richie knew that as well.)

“That’s not my name, Fucker,” Eddie said to him, at the same time that he was crushed in a bear hug despite the bag he still had draped over his shoulder and the suitcase that had come to rest at his side.

Whatever Richie said to him in response sounded like a mashup of “I know” (along with some indiscernible explanation for the misspelling), “I missed you,” and “I have to show you what’s at my place.” All three got muffled and mashed together as Richie hugged him, not wanting to let go until Eddie pushed him politely away by his chest. 

“Do you wanna try that again? In English?”

“I said you gotta see all the shit I bought you! Eds—Eddie, Eddie Spaghetti, you’re gonna flip your _shit!”_ Richie was smiling at him like he just won the fucking lottery.

When was the last time anyone had _ever_ looked at him that way?

Eddie was going to go out on a limb and say...never. Mark, even in their early days, never looked at him with so much happiness or excitement. Mark, also, never asked to carry Eddie’s bags for him—which Richie was doing now while leading Eddie happily along to his car. 

“You do know that driving a red car—”

“Doesn’t actually affect my insurance rate? Yeah, it’s crazy, right?” Richie said grinning as he carefully set Eddie’s luggage in the spacious, nearly empty trunk. Eddie couldn’t help but notice the emergency roadside kit and small, modest toolbox tucked into the back. “Do you need anything from your bags before I shut it?” Richie asked, smiling at him even still. 

“Nah, I’m good,” Eddie said, patting the lone carry-on bag that he still had draped over his shoulders. 

“You want that in here? There’s room.”

“I’m fine,” Eddie said, feeling more comfortable with all of his prescription medications on hand. 

“Alright. Off to get you set up at the hotel and then dinner?” Richie asked, slamming the trunk and hurrying to beat Eddie to the passenger door of the car to open it for him.

“I can get the door for myself, you know?” Eddie said, trying hard not to smile like an idiot.

“You know, you’re the reason people say chivalry is dead.”

“I’m a dude...”

“Didn’t realize having a penis meant I couldn’t get the door for you.” Richie was still grinning the whole time Eddie got into the passenger seat of the car. It was cleaned very well—so well it hardly looked driven in. Eddie had been in filthier luxury rental cars...and that said a _lot._

They argued playfully back and forth about chivalry and which of them was _the_ man, Richie taking credit as the one who helped Eddie change his tire, up until they’d finally reached the stop and go traffic outside the airport. 

“So, hotel then dinner?” Richie asked again.

“Sounds good.”

“After dinner, do you wanna check out my place?” He looked so excited about it, like a little kid who wanted to show his best friend his room—like Eddie might’ve if he’d been allowed to have friends over as a boy. 

“Sure. I mean, it’s Saturday. I don’t exactly have work in the morning to be worried about.” And didn’t that thought just make him giddy? Two days to acclimate—two days to learn all he could about the area he was staying. His hotel was a good forty minutes from wherever Richie was living, much further than the fifteen minute commute to his new office, but Eddie still had a sinking suspicion that he’d be spending a lot more than just the weekends in Richie’s apartment. Assuming, of course, that the place was clean and nice and livable. 

Seeing how well-kept his nice, new car was, Eddie was feeling optimistic.

His hotel was an extended stay suite equipped with a tiny kitchenette sporting a single burner, a microwave, and a mini fridge to go with the coffee pot. No minibar, Richie had pointed out, pretending to be dismayed as he lined up Eddie’s luggage for him.

Once everything was tucked away and Richie was done checking out Eddie’s amenities, the two seemed to pause for a moment—both just standing silently near the floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the parking deck and not much else. Richie was quiet for once, seeming to be done with his bout of teasing Eddie about checking this “very nice” hotel bed for bedbugs. 

It felt so strange… Home? This hotel was supposed to be his home until...what? Until he either made it in his new position or failed and lost the promotion all together? His apartment didn’t feel much like home these days, but a strange hotel room with a view of a sea of cars was hardly...comforting. 

Then, as if reading his mind, Richie stepped a little closer and put his hands on Eddie’s shoulders—snapping him out of his thoughts.

“You’ll get used to it. If not, you’re a hotshot, right? Just tell them to upgrade you to a room with a view.” 

“It’s about as good of a view as my apartment has, I guess,” Eddie said, swallowing hard as his eyes finally met Richie’s after scanning the fraying threads on the collar of his white and blue Hawaiian shirt. 

“Maybe that was the idea. They wanted you to look out on all the concrete and steel and think you were home.” Richie seemed a little bit nervous, fidgeting while he kept his hands on Eddie’s shoulders—caressing them with his thumbs anxiously. It was the same nervous energy he had had back at the Hilton in New York the night they’d met—the night Eddie tried to send him off only to end up calling him back to help take off his harness.

He’d been nervous back then, cautious because of how large Richie’s hands were—how clumsy and unskilled they’d looked as Eddie had led him back into the hotel room—but the man had taken such great care in unfastening all the little buckles and straps. He peeled away the vegan leather so gently that night, and dabbed at the sores and blisters with a cold, damp cloth until Eddie had come back to his senses and chased him away. He’d told him again that night that he was _not_ getting his phone number…

Eddie was so happy Richie came back for him that next morning. He was so...grateful. So thankful.

“So… Dinner? Maybe?” Richie asked, smiling awkwardly. Eddie leaned up to kiss him, feeling the man continuing to smile into it. Eddie felt the same sparks, the same warmth in the pit of his stomach. 

“Dinner sounds great. Where, uh… Where do you have in mind?” Eddie asked, trying not to dwell on the thoughts in the back of his mind that had him feeling sappy and weak. 

“I know just the place,” Richie said, grinning after he pressed one last kiss to Eddie’s scarred cheek and pulled away. “Oh, Eds, you’re gonna flip. You’re gonna love it here. It’s an allergen-free paradise. I’m tellin’ ya!” 

“I bet I get food poisoning. I do every time I travel.” Eddie didn’t quite know why he said it—his usual pessimism coming through, perhaps?—but it didn’t put a damper on Richie’s mood at all.

“Food poisoning, huh? Well, I’ve carried you through near-death experiences a couple times now. A little salmonella ain’t got nothin’ on me. Come on, Eduardo. This place is fuckin’ depressing. Inmates have a better view,” Richie tacked on, managing to get Eddie to laugh.

That whole evening just felt like a film—like a movie or a photo. Something so picture perfect that Eddie didn’t think it could possibly be real. 

Dinner was incredible. Eddie wasn’t even sure how Richie had found the place—some little hole in the wall restaurant that had a door you could barely see from the street and a sign so small you would think they _wanted_ to be overlooked. Richie ate an over-the-top Asian style veggie burger on a gluten-free bun (for no real reason besides saying he “wanted to try it”) and Eddie had a Mediterranean-style quinoa bowl with salmon. Everything listed on the menu had little symbols next to it to denote different allergens and flag alternatives that were safe from nuts or gluten or soy. He never would have asked Richie to take him to such a particular place, he never would’ve asked Richie to try eating the same diet he was restricted to, but it made him feel so...so _normal._ So _ordinary._ He didn’t feel like the odd one out the way he did when he went out with Ben and Bev. He didn’t feel like the reason they had to go to a restaurant with subpar options. 

Eddie just felt like a man on a date. A man out to dinner. Richie gave up on the gluten-free bun and ate his burger with a fork and knife halfway through, but he tried and Eddie… Eddie appreciated him for it.

They had dinner, then walked around the local area where Richie showed him a specialized grocery store, a street corner that was blocked off every Saturday from eight to ten in the morning for a farmer’s market, a vegan cafe… They sipped coffee together (Richie drinking a latte made with coconut milk that he wouldn’t shut up about) and walked around a small park that was teeming with a million other people though Eddie hardly saw a single one. 

His focus was on Richie—what Richie was saying, what Richie was doing, what Richie was asking him about and telling him about and sharing with him. He was seeing Richie in his own element… Richie where he knew the lay of the land and wasn’t fumbling or grasping at straws to figure out what they should do next. 

Only all this extra stuff, all the grocery stores and cafes...those weren’t his day-to-day routine. Those were things he’d found _for Eddie._ Just for Eddie, just to make him feel at home. 

It had Eddie practically melting into a puddle at his feet—and not just because the California sunlight was getting to him a bit after being out in it all evening. The feeling only got worse, too, when Eddie followed Richie through the doorway of his little apartment. It was modest and small, a desk in one corner that was cluttered in notebooks and papers, and a couch and television across from it. The kitchen was just a part of the rest of the living area, and there was a bathroom just beyond the kitchen with a tiny hallway to its left. 

He had a balcony, though, with a view of dusty hills and scattered palm trees. 

The bedroom was much the same—small with a beautiful view he could stare at while laying in bed. It was smaller than Eddie was used to, but it was _perfect._ It was well below Richie’s means, too, if the fancy electronics he had laying around had anything to show for it. 

“It’s got an in-unit washer and dryer, too! I didn’t even have to pay for them. It’s fuckin’ great, man. Whenever they break, which is all the fuckin’ time, somebody just comes to fix it and I don’t have to pay a penny.”

“Sounds… Yeah, sounds great,” Eddie said, chuckling a little as he stared at the pretty standard-issue washer/dryer set. 

“But! I didn’t bring you here to show you the washer. I wanted to show you the fridge. C’mere.” Richie closed the sliding doors that hid the washer and dryer and led Eddie back around the corner into the kitchen/living/entrance room. 

“What is it, a Whirlpool or something?” Eddie asked, staring at the black, standard-issue fridge. His was a lot better—with all the special drawers and chambers to keep his produce fresh. God, he was going to miss his morning smoothies… There was no way he could keep the produce he needed in that stupid mini-fridge at the hotel.

“Uh… LG?” Richie said, tapping the insignia on the top of the fridge before he pulled open the freezer on the right hand side. Narrow and crammed full. “I’ve got all the meats you could want, some frozen veggies, some of these pre-made smoothie things. They don’t taste like yours though—”

“That’s because these are pure fucking sugar, dude. I told you that before,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes at the frozen tubes of Insta-Strawberry, Insta-Stawberry Banana, Insta-Banana Chocolate. 

“Yeah, but I can’t make them myself for shit. Oh! And check these out!” 

Eddie’s focus was directed to boxes of Allergen-Free veggie patties, Allergen-Free French “Toast,” Plant-Based everything with “No Soy, No Gluten, No Dairy, No Egg!” stamped on the fronts of all of them.

“I’ve been trying this shit out. Some of it is God-fuckin’-awful, but these are pretty good if you drown them in syrup,” Richie said, waving around the box of blueberry French “toast.” 

“I could’ve told you that. What the heck is all this? You know, you don’t catch allergies just by proximity,” Eddie said, not sure what to make of the gesture at all. Was it Richie’s way of trying to get Eddie to stay here instead of the hotel? Was he just curious? Was he trying that hard to impress Eddie even after they’d been kind of sort of going steady long distance for quite a few months? 

“I wanted to try it!” Richie said, smiling before he crammed the box back into the freezer and shut the door only to open the fridge and show off more of the same. “Okay, so… I know I suck at this, but I really tried. I got all the things I remember seeing in your fridge. Kale, spinach, apples, pears, berries—all that good shit. And I got that pea protein yogurt. Uh, regular and vanilla. Both are nasty. Don’t recommend solo. I got some _quinoa milk!_ That was cool! And...Oh! This ‘cheese’ is amazing on these frozen—shit, I didn’t show you. I got these frozen—hang on—frozen sausages. They’re made with Wagyu beef, supposedly. Fuckin’ amazing, dude.” 

On and on he went about these special sausages and the buns he’d found that were gluten-free and didn’t taste like absolute cardboard (more like cardboard with seasoning), and the dairy-free cheese that worked best with them, and the condiments he liked to try with them. He explained all of this, then showed off some _banana milk_ he bought, vegan everything, soy-free everything, gluten-free everything… 

“Oh, but I was saving these. I, uh, yeah… I made this, so if it kills you, my bad.” Richie was chuckling and digging around in his produce drawer for a blue Tupperware container. “I know they’re fuckin’ awful, but I tried.” 

Eddie could hardly even talk. His brain was in overload, not sure how to process what he was looking at. A fridge full of produce, full of dairy-alternatives, full of food that...that _he_ would buy for himself if he had the space for it. There was a bottle of dairy-free creamer (International Delight) and a nearly empty packet of Muenster cheese, and those were the only things that looked like they actually belonged to Richie. Everything else was...it was for _him._ Richie bought all this stuff for him…

Eddie had had to sneak food _into_ Mark’s apartment in order to have things he could eat for breakfast in the morning if he was ever allowed to sleep over. He hadn’t seen Richie in weeks and the man had set up his fridge like Eddie was coming to live with him.

“Did I break you? Open it,” Richie said, tapping the container Eddie forgot was in his hands.

“Yeah, shit. Sorry. I’m… Jet-lagged. It’s like, midnight, dude.” 

“Well, then it’s time for a midnight snack. Open it. Come on. I’m dying. C’mon.” Richie really did look nervous and excited and like he’d die if Eddie didn’t open the damned box.

So he did, and stared down at the little chocolate truffles inside. Handmade—all kinds of strange, lumpy shapes.

“I made sure they were safe. I got this chocolate—I saved the bag! I put it… Hang on...” Richie was digging through his drawers until he pulled out a crumpled, pale-blue bag that showed off how safe and allergen free the chocolate chips inside it were. “Yeah, so it’s just like that place you like in New York. Chocolate, avocado… I put some vanilla in there ‘cause I thought it’d...you know. I tried.”

All Eddie wanted was to ask him why. He’d tried, but why? He did all this, but why? What if Eddie came out here and said he wanted to break things off? What if he came out here and said they were over? Would he stab Eddie in the face with one of the knives in the block on top of his fridge? 

Was he just that foolishly optimistic? Or… Or was this what normal couples did? Ben would probably do it for Beverly. He was Goddamned over the moon for her. Richie, Eddie realized as if for the first time, was over the moon for him…

It was strange. It was… It was _nice._

Trying not to think on it much longer, Eddie grabbed one of the coco-powder covered truffles and popped it in his mouth. Not as good as CiCi’s (no one’s ever would be) but they tasted absolutely divine. 

“I know it’s, like, way out of line, but I thought...you know, hotels have shitty ovens and shit. I thought maybe you’d want to come by here sometimes for dinner and stuff. So I… I got all this stuff. I mean, I like it, too. I eat it. Most of it… That yogurt is yours. That shit is gross. I can’t even try with that shit, but… Yeah, I thought you could come by here if you get hungry.”

“Like a cat?” Eddie asked, a smile spreading across his face as he took another truffle into his hand and popped it into his mouth. 

“Or a...you know...”

“I don’t know?” Eddie asked, feeling his own face grow hot as he watched Richie flounder, struggling to come up with words for what he wanted to say.

“I… Shit. I know you’re not staying here, I mean… I have a shit apartment compared to yours in New York, but if you want to hang out, like, ever...you’re more than welcome. I don’t want you to be forced to eat out every night and get sick or something...so if you ever want to make dinner here, just drop by.”

“And kick the door in if you’re not here?” Eddie asked after swallowing down the truffle. Okay, okay, they were comparable to CiCi’s but still not as good.

Richie’s face was still burning dark red. Eddie knew long before Richie even said it out loud that the other man had made him a spare key.

( ) ( ) ( )

Richie thought for sure that he was being a hopeless romantic, a foolish optimist, but Eddie took his spare key, put it in his pocket, and then leaned in to kiss him. It was slow at first, then his fingers were twisting into the fabric of Richie’s shirt and pulling him in closer. 

His mouth tasted like the chocolate truffles, but little by little Eddie just started to taste like himself. Richie had a hand on the back of his neck, his thumb caressing the curve of Eddie’s jaw. He had Eddie’s hands on his shoulders, then his hips—fingers hooking into his waistband. 

Richie had gotten his hopes up just enough to trim his bush, but not much else, so when he tried to get on his knees and was rejected, he was at a loss for what else to do. Having Eddie’s hand down the front of his pants was fantastic, but not enough—well, it could be after so long apart, but it would only satisfy his basest of physical lusts. As much as he adored Eddie’s nimble fingers squeezing the base of his cock, he wanted more out of this reunion. Call him greedy, that was fine. He just wanted to make love, but he wasn’t so blindly optimistic as to expect Eddie to be prepped and ready to go. 

Though he seemed ready to _go._

Richie couldn’t help how badly he was shaking with want as Eddie’s hands worked over him—one down the front of his pants and the other gripping his pecs, squeezing them and moaning into it like Richie’s squishy body actually did something for him.

Was that really possible? Mark had been ripped. Was Richie really _physically_ attractive to him compared to that?

He had to be. _Had_ to be! Eddie was moaning as sighing and making little whimpered sounds as they kissed deeper and deeper. 

“I-I… I switch,” Richie panted, eyes squeezed shut as Eddie pumped his cock 

“You’ve told me.”

“I… I could get prepped.” It was so hard to get the words to come out, the age-old fear that he would be rejected shooting through his chest without any justifiable cause. Eddie’s hand was on his dick—why would he be refused?

“You should,” Eddie told him, breaking their kiss just long enough to say it. 

Richie felt his eyes roll back in pleasure, the thought—the idea—almost enough to make him lose control. 

Eddie, Eddie, _Eddie._ Eddie was here with him in _LA._ Eddie would be here for a _while!_

It was hard to break away from the kiss, even with the promise of more to come. His entire body was trembling as he made his way to his bathroom, feeling jittery and self conscious as he heard Eddie go into his bedroom and close the door. 

At least he’d made his bed, Richie thought. Hopefully it was up to Eddie’s standards. 

Trying to get prepped with another man in his apartment—well, a guy he wasn’t already seeing on _that_ level, at any rate—felt so awkward. Eddie’s apartment at least had a good deal of space for privacy, but Richie’s did not afford that luxury. He was left praying to all the gods he knew of that Eddie didn’t overhear anything that grossed him out.

He should be used to this, right? Eddie was the sub, the bottom, for a Dom who definitely didn’t switch—surely he was used to it.

Richie didn’t know why he was overthinking it so much. By the time he was prepped and ready to go and got back in the bedroom, Eddie was presumably naked—his clothes folded up on Richie’s dresser—and buried under the sheets like he planned to go to sleep.

“I, uh… I don’t know if you like my condom brand… But I have those non-latex ones, too,” Richie said, gesturing toward his nightstand which Eddie lazily rolled over onto his stomach and pulled open the drawer of. He stared at the contents a moment while Richie nervously came over to his own bed, one hand clutched over his half-hard dick because he was embarrassed about how small it looked that way. 

“I have mine in my luggage…” His luggage which was back at the hotel. “These will probably be fine. I’m not really XL, but you know they say they’re actually average size.”

“Probably why they break half the time on me,” Richie said, smiling a little cheekily. Eddie rolled over to look at him—honestly looking a little fatigued—and rolled his eyes.

“Just tell me you get checked out whenever one ‘breaks,’” he said. 

“I always get tested between partners. C’mon. Big dick doesn’t mean small brain.” Richie climbed onto the bed, making sure to be on his stomach so his semi wasn’t showing in all its disappointing glory. “I’m sure they checked you for everything under the sun at the hospital, huh?”

“Yeah and...and I always get tested. Like, every three months. Always. Mark...” Eddie let out a deep sigh and dug out one of the non-latex ones from their purple box and tossed it onto the comforter. “Mark would have sex with all kinds of guys when he did his demos. I knew about it… I didn’t like it, but...it’s part of the culture—”

“It’s really fuckin’ not, but okay. I’m listening.” Richie had his chin propped up on one hand and offered a smile. 

“I don’t fucking know. I thought I was with a Dom. Turns out I was with an asshole, but...whatever. Point is, I get checked every three months regardless and...and I’ve been negative. Ever since the attack and everything. But I want...I want to be safe. It can take…” He took a deep breath like he was about to confess some great misdeed, and Richie knew right away he was about to start having a panic attack if Richie didn’t step up and stop it. “It can take nine months to test positive for HIV—”

“You don’t have AIDS, Eds. I promise. It’s been months since the club, it’s been months since he stabbed you—you’re fine. I promise.”

“But you don’t _know_ that!”

“Well, that’s why we have condoms. And I promise you if I’m wearing one and it breaks, I’ll stop and put on a new one so no one gets sick. Okay?” 

Eddie didn’t look convinced, so Richie leaned over to press a kiss to his mouth—comforting him just a little. It took a few more tries to get Eddie to kiss back, but once he did Richie was able to get him calm and get him out from under the blankets.

“Scar’s getting a little better,” Eddie said as Richie kissed down his chest—paying extra close attention to the dark, discolored mark at the center of his chest. 

“If it’s anything like the ones here, it’ll be fading in no time,” Richie said, squeezing Eddie’s ass to make him squeak—and then scoff at his own undignified sound. 

“The ones on my ass are the _worst!”_

“I think you’re crazy,” Richie answered, squeezing his ass again in an attempt to get another squeak. All it got him was Eddie’s delightfully naked body laying on top of his own. All that meant was he could get both his hands on either of Eddie’s ass cheeks and squeeze them.

“Dude...”

“What? I’m an ass man. What can I say?” He squeezed Eddie’s butt again, then leaned up for a kiss that ended with his bottom lip getting nipped. “If that was supposed to shut me up, I’m into biting, too.”

“Is there anything you’re not into?” Eddie asked, sighing in annoyance as he shifted around to get more comfortable over top Richie’s body.

“Uh… Yes. Lots of things. But nothing that applies here. I mean, unless you gotta piss. Not into water sports.”

“God! Gross, I hope not!” Eddie said, though his face was bright red at the mention and he was looking away toward the wall. 

Richie bit back a “methinks thou doth protest too much,” and just basked in the glory of seeing Eddie so flustered. When Eddie had himself back under control, he leaned in for a soft kiss and allowed Richie to wrap his thighs around his hips. 

It had been a minute since he’d last bottomed, and it had clearly been a minute...or a decade since Eddie had last been on top. He was awkward and fumbled a lot, but did his best to keep his uncertainty off his face as they kissed their way through rushed foreplay disguised as prep. Eddie’s one complaint, that Richie—in all his months and days of prep and planning—had forgotten, was a lack of gloves to keep his hands clean. 

How the fuck had he forgotten the latex gloves? Without them, Eddie seemed so uncomfortable fingering him and Richie had the absent thought that he’d be better off to do it himself. Still, he kept it to himself and just went along with it when—after all was said and done—Eddie jumped up to wash his hands before hurrying back to the bed to do the deed.

He was red-faced and grinning shyly as he did, like he expected to get made fun of for wanting to keep clean. Maybe some other time Richie might tease him, but not tonight—not after waiting so long to hold him close. From the bathroom, Eddie had also brought Richie’s bath towel (probably not realizing it was “dirty” by his impeccable standards) and asked if he could lay it out to protect the bedding.

Richie squirmed around to get it haphazardly beneath him, which seemed to irk Eddie who wanted the damned thing folded over and neatly placed like Richie’s ass wasn’t about to be rammed closer and closer to the headboard in a minute. 

By the time Eddie had settled back down between Richie’s legs, it took another three minutes of open-mouthed kissing and hands caressing erogenous zones before Eddie was even at half-mast again. Richie, being the sap he was, was leaking all over the place because Eddie, Eddie, _Eddie_ was in his fucking bed. He felt like an over-eager teen again—in both the good ways and the bad.

“I feel like you’re going to come all over me before I even get it in,” Eddie said, sounding only half playful as he tore open the wrapper of the condom.

“I will if you keep talking dirty,” Richie said, earning a loud scoff. He was watching Eddie’s face so closely, drinking in the way he rolled his eyes in annoyance while his hand rolled down the condom. 

“If you do, am I supposed to keep going? Like, dude, I don’t know how you want this—”

“Any way _you_ want it,” Richie interjected, unable to help himself. “That’s the way I need it.”

Eddie’s face immediately went from sassy and irritated to blank and unamused. Richie kept his expression casual for all of three seconds, just to let the joke sink in, then busted out laughing. Honestly, he was surprised that Eddie actually followed through and shoved his legs further apart to line up at his opening. He’d looked so completely unimpressed that it was a wonder he didn’t get up and leave. 

Richie guessed he was just that lucky. 

“Just for the sake of open communication,” Eddie said, pressing forward the slightest bit and then pulling away—only to do the same motion again, not giving any more than the first time. 

“Mm, please do talk dirty to me,” Richie groaned, trying not to pant at the teasing bit of pressure which returned for just one fleeting moment only for Eddie to draw back a third time.

“If you start singing shitty pop songs, I’m leaving and you can finish yourself off.”

“How can you say—fuck! How can you say anything by Journey is a shi—ah! Shitty pop song?”

Eddie kept up those slow, teasing motions, not pressing in any further than the very tip and then pulling back to leave Richie’s hole clenching on reflex at the loss. Sadistic fuck. It was a good thing he wasn’t a Dom. 

Richie filed away a mental note to make him pay for this the next time their roles were reversed. He knew how to keep a sub on edge for ages. He’d show Eddie what it meant to be a tease.

The idea had him practically growling. What he wouldn’t give to have Eddie bound to his bed, unable to touch himself while Richie left him wanting—unable to shield himself from unrelenting touches once he was spent and overwhelmed. Patience, he reminded himself. Patience. He needed to just be thankful he had Eddie here fucking with him at all.

“Keep arguing and see where it gets you,” Eddie said, smiling just a little in a tad bit of a sinister way before pressing the full head of his cock inside—and then fucking taking it away. God _damnit!_

“Put over your knee?” Richie offered. He had just enough time to smirk, to hopefully show he was kidding, and then Eddie surged forward and buried himself to the hilt. He entirely missed the sound Eddie made as he did it, too busy shouting out, “Fuck! Fuck, fuck!” Because he didn’t expect that and it felt as good as it hurt. 

“If that’s what it takes to shut you up,” Eddie answered. What Richie wouldn’t give to slap him on the ass for that… God, why did he have to wait? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair! Even so, it did something to him to have Eddie in charge—to have Eddie, who had been so helpless when they first met—calling the shots.

It was probably, Richie thought, a really good way to test the waters, too. A good way for Eddie to feel more confident with him. Yeah, win-win, Richie thought, at the expense of his poor rectal tract which he could already tell was about to taking a beating. He’d kind of expected Eddie to be sappy and gentle, and that was not what he’d gotten himself into. 

“Usually gags shut me up,” Richie whined, eyes clenched shut against the sting as his body slowly adjusted to the intrusion. Not too thick, but _long._ Richie remembered admiring it from the crowd the first time he ever saw Eddie, and now he felt a thrill rush through his chest at the idea that all those people got to see Eddie naked—got to see Eddie tormented and, inevitably, tortured—but he got to be fucked by him. Bet they never thought an out-of-place newbie like him could take home the unsung star of the show. (Face it, Eddie was hotter than Mark and way hotter than the other Dom who’d been playing with him. He was the star of that fucking demonstration, even if things got out of hand.) 

“Do you have one? I would gladly stuff it in your mouth.”

“You’ve got something—oh, shit! Something else you can stuff in my—Mmn… Mouth,” Richie tried so hard to get the sentence out without choking on it, but Eddie had slowly started rolling his hips and though it didn’t really do much for him right away, the thoughts in his head compared with the endless chanting of Eddie, Eddie, _Eddie,_ had his eyes rolling back in his head. 

“I already told you; we can’t do oral because I’m not sure if—”

“I meant your fuckin’ tongue.” Wasn’t what he meant at all, but it was worth it to get Eddie to look flustered for a moment—to take the cockiness out of his expression. 

Richie got his kiss, too, and that was just the icing on the cake. 

Once Richie was finally quieted, preoccupied with sucking Eddie’s tongue and pulling noises of pleasure out of the other man, Eddie quit focusing on teasing and started to set up a rhythm. He broke off their kiss just to moan, leaning back so he could get his hands on Richie’s thighs to brace himself and slam in a little deeper. Eddie’s eyes were closed for most of it, but his mouth hung open in a pleasured gape as he panted and moaned his way through every little motion. 

Watching him was treat in and of itself, and Richie was left sucking and chewing his own bottom lip as he jacked himself off to the sight in front of him—as smudged and smeary as it was through his glasses. Eddie’s body was all lean muscle, slick with sweat—practically glowing like a fucking work of art. The dark scar at the center of his chest added to it, somehow, and Richie found himself playing up the mobster fantasy he had in the back of his mind. Survived a knifing and a gunshot wound to the chest, just to make it home in time to fuck his boyfriend.

Eddie _was_ his boyfriend, right? Outside of the mobster fantasy? They were totally dating, right? Richie didn’t want to slap a label on things and fuck it up, but he’d made Eddie a fucking key to his apartment.

They were dating, Richie decided as his eyes slammed shut and he felt the familiar tightness coiling in his stomach. They were dating and if Eddie said otherwise, then he was just as confused about normal relationships as he was D/s ones. 

Richie made sure, for Eddie’s sake, that when he came, it was directed all over his own hand and stomach so that none of it got him to “infect” him.

Eddie was still fucking into him, his motions fast and irregular a moment longer, then drawn out into sharp, deep thrusts—one after another in slow, measured succession—until his whole body tensed and he let out this delicious, low groan with his head tipped back. His fingers were still digging into Richie’s thighs and Richie longed for the bruises—longed for any part of Eddie that would stay with him once the night was over, once morning had come and Eddie inevitably left to go back to his hotel. 

Once he was finished, Eddie pulled away—still panting—and stripped off the condom, looking over and around the edge of the bed for Richie’s trashcan to throw it away along with the wrapper that was still hanging out on the corner of the mattress. He leaned down for a kiss that Richie was panting so hard he almost missed—fuck he was out of shape—and then Eddie was leaping up from the bed again and scurrying off to the bathroom like before. 

When he came back, it was with a hand towel from the kitchen, however, which he used to clean up Richie’s stomach until he was back in control of his faculties enough to clean up himself. Typically he’d enjoy laying there and being pampered—it was the bottom’s right, as far as he was concerned—but not with how wary Eddie was about exchanging bodily fluids without his special gloves. How the hell had he forgotten to buy gloves? He remembered produce and tea and all of Eddie’s allergies, but he forgot to get fucking disposable gloves…

“You’re not planning on ditching me after that, are you?” Richie asked, voice still not quite right as he woozily sat himself up against the headboard. Eddie was across the room by his dresser, putting his underwear back on until he froze when he was addressed.

“No… I was...” He chuckled then, cheeks turning a little pink in the dim light. “I wanted to get another couple of those truffles.”

“So they _are_ better than Chi-Chi’s.”

“CiCi’s.”

“Yes, Eduardo. Si, si. Chi-Chi’s.” 

The frustrated, perturbed look on Eddie’s face couldn’t be beat. 

“Bring me one, okay?”

“In bed?”

“It’s _my_ bed,” Richie answered, chuckling at how disgusted Eddie looked. “It’s not potato chips and cookies. It’s a chocolate truffle. C’mon. It’s not going to get everywhere and I’m _sore.”_ He did a dramatic pout and Eddie rolled his eyes before leaving the room. In his absence, Richie balled up and tossed away the towel that had somehow stayed under his hips the whole time and then pulled on a fresh pair of boxers. Eddie came back to the room with a little plate of truffles balanced on top of one of two glasses of water he was carrying. “Mm, good thinking. I need hydrated after that workout.”

“All you had to do was lay there,” Eddie scoffed, waiting for Richie to take his glass before moving the plate of truffles into his other hand so he could gulp down the water he’d gotten for himself.

“Excuse me? You didn’t like my moves? I thought I had good moves.” He was joking—mainly because he didn’t bottom enough to have more moves than what it took to rock his hips back against what felt good.

“Hitting me in the ass with your foot isn’t a move,” Eddie said, panting after his long drink of water. He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked over the truffles a moment before placing his glass between his thighs to hold it upright and then grabbed one of the truffles to pop it in his mouth. When Richie reached for one, Eddie pulled it away. “You can wash your hands before you take food off my plate.”

_“My_ plate,” Richie corrected, though he smiled as he said it and placed a quick kiss to Eddie’s scarred cheek before climbing reluctantly off the bed. 

“So much for _mi casa es su casa,”_ Eddie said back to him, watching with a disapproving gaze as Richie left the room to wash his hands. When Richie came back, he did get a kiss on the lips that was dusted with coco-powder, and he was finally allowed to pop a truffle into his mouth. 

“You’re staying the night, right?” Richie asked, trying to sound casual even though he was positive he just came off desperate and hopeful.

“I mean, I assumed so. Unless you need me to go.” 

Motherfucker moved so quick to set his cup and plate aside that it seemed like Richie just screamed at him to get the hell out and never come back. His face was even heating up like he was embarrassed to have misunderstood the invitation.

“The only place I want you going is back under these sheets. You look good in my bed.” It wasn’t his strongest line, but it got Eddie to relax and go back to eating his chocolate truffles. Richie kissed him again and stole one last chocolate for himself.

If the pleased little expression on Eddie’s face was anything to go by, they were definitely boyfriends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's about time these two had a heart-to-heart so Richie can stop wondering if they're official or not. I think it's making him crazy. Also, I can't resist a little Top!Eddie. Can you?


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a book and a half. Smut take a long time to write, okay?? There's a lot going on here! Fun things. Lots of fun things. Is this a taste of the moment we've all been waiting for?

Eddie told himself not to get used to this. It wouldn’t last. It _couldn’t_ last. 

But, then again, that was what he’d been saying since the beginning.

Eddie woke up with Richie’s arm slung lazily over his hip, the other man snoring against the back of his neck. He was in Richie’s apartment—he was almost _always_ in Richie’s apartment—and it all felt like some perfect, storybook dream come true. 

Maybe things were moving too quickly, maybe they had been since the beginning, but Eddie found himself surrendering to the free-fall. If he was going to wake up like this every morning, was it really such a bad thing to fall in so deep?

Eddie moaned sleepily and wiggled his hips back against Richie’s, just to feel that much closer—bare skin to bare skin. He was still aching from the night before and it was glorious. He wasn’t stinging and burning and raw, just...achy. Dozens of bruises were littered across his hips and thighs—all the places he wanted them most—with a couple more on his collarbone and the slope of his neck. Hidden places no one had to see but them. 

Little by little, things were getting rougher between them and yet Richie had yet to hurt him worse than a slightly-too-hard bite on the shoulder. Even then, Eddie snapped at him and called him a stupid asshole and Richie just giggled at him and said he was sorry—promised it wouldn’t happen again. And, so far, it hadn’t. 

One month in LA and Eddie had yet to be hurt worse by this man than one canceled dinner plan and one bite on the shoulder. 

Eddie wiggled his hips again and Richie finally snorted himself awake, his hand squeezing Eddie’s hip like he didn’t know what it was at first and then trailing upwards to cup Eddie’s shoulder. He pressed lazy, sleepy kisses to Eddie’s shoulder blades and neck, then shifted around to get his mouth right on top of Eddie’s ear—the way he _knew_ Eddie couldn’t stand—and sighed.

“Fucker, you know I hate that!” Eddie snapped, rolling onto his back only to have Richie’s arm and leg slung over him again to cuddle. 

“Mm. And you know I hate mornings. Now we’re even.” Every morning went something like this. They started little fights with each other and cuddled until Eddie’s alarm went off and he had to get up to shower. Richie would usually stay awake long enough to get Eddie’s coffee brewed, then slither back under the covers and return to sleep. 

Eddie would shower off the sweat and grime from the night before, paying extra attention to the space between his legs—sometimes just to feel the twinge of soreness a little deeper for a moment or two longer. After that, he’d brush his teeth, trim his facial hair (which really did hide his scar very well without it ever looking unruly or sloppy), and get his hair styled for the day. He’d put on deodorant, get dressed, put on some cologne, drink his coffee while he made his breakfast smoothie (and one for Richie those rare occasions that he was awake), take his meds, kiss Richie goodbye and then be on his way.

His morning commutes didn’t consist of his mind running in vicious circles anymore. He didn’t drive himself to the brink of a nervous breakdown obsessing over every detail of the previous night—wondering what he could have done better, should’ve done better, could’ve done differently. Eddie never realized just how much time he spent anxiously fretting over whether or not he’d been satisfying for Mark. He didn’t even grasp that it wasn’t normal to be panicking on the way to work every day that his partner might be slinking off to meet some other submissive, some other _person_ for sex, because he hadn’t been good enough—or wasn’t good enough to be used in a demonstration. 

Richie didn’t _cheat_ on him. Richie didn’t _want_ to cheat on him. 

It was a weird thing to feel so certain about the wants and wills of another person, but Eddie could just... _tell._ When they were together, he’d catch the other man staring at him with this dumb, happy look on his face. Eddie liked Richie a whole awful lot, and he didn’t stare at Richie quite like that… Then again, while he’d been recovering from illness and anxieties and assaults, Richie had been out here in LA pining over him and trying to find any excuse to get closer. 

Richie’s feelings for him were stronger than Eddie’s, but it worked...somehow, they _worked._

They “fit,” as Richie kept putting it. Whenever they’d hold hands. Whenever they’d spoon. Whenever they fucked. Richie would get all dazed and happy and Eddie could just hear him saying it, again and again. _“We fit.”_

Slowly, Eddie was starting to let that become an excuse he could live with. Why did he spend all of his free time with some other man? Because they _fit._ Because it _worked._ Why did he let some guy he barely knew leave smatterings of bruises on him? Because they _fit_ and he _liked it._ There was no coercion, no guilt trip, no smothering. Richie let him come and go as he pleased with no pouting if he said he was staying at his hotel to work. Once Richie had even DoorDashed local fucking coffee and an allergen-safe breakfast to the front desk of his hotel for him. Fucker woke up and _ordered him breakfast._ He was asleep before it ever arrived and didn’t answer Eddie’s thank you text until much later in the morning, but he’d gotten up to do it.

Mark had always made it clear that when Eddie was in his own space, he was his own person. He wasn’t Mark’s responsibility anymore if he was at home. He barely texted, called even less… Unless they were negotiating their next scene or making plans for a date, Mark didn’t interact with him at all when he was home—and Eddie had preferred it that way so he could focus solely on his work.

Work… 

Eddie realized that all he did when he was with Mark was fret and work and hurt and fuck and fret and work. Things had been sour between them far longer than Eddie would even care to admit… And he’d been so blind to it all. When did things even change? He couldn’t place a day or a time… It had all been so gradual. One day, he was being swept off his feet by this cool, attractive Dom, and the next he was being manipulated into allowing his partner to fuck other men _and_ women, and believing it was because that was the culture for people like him. 

Eddie had to just roll his eyes at himself the more he looked back on it now. He believed everything that man told him. He fell for every line and explanation. Mark used his shame and his guilt against him in order to make his play along with his twisted games. 

Truly, Eddie was proud to say he didn’t even need his therapist to help him figure out that one. Hearing Richie say “Mm, no it’s not,” to almost everything Eddie said was “part of the culture” was reassurance enough. He used to hate hearing it, and now it gave him a strange sort of comfort. A strange kind of relief. 

Maybe he was sick in the head for liking other men. Maybe he was sicker yet for liking them to hurt him. But at least he wasn’t so sick that he _had_ to subject himself to it, just to get some of the things he wanted. 

Yes, instead of spending his long commute into work fretting about whether or not his partner would be faithful or if he’d be hearing tales about scenes he’d had with other people that were rougher than Eddie could handle, now Eddie spent his drive fantasizing about what he and Richie might be able to do together. Sometimes they were racy fantasies. Sometimes they were as simple as going on a hike or taking a weekend trip to Joshua Tree Forest or the Aerial Tram in Palm Springs.

Eddie thought about things besides _work!_ He didn’t need to hide behind it anymore. He didn’t need to stick his head in the sand and keep up barriers and walls. He should be more careful with his heart and he knew it, but all of Eddie’s fail-safes had been bypassed. He was in too deep. He had _feelings_ for this other man, and the man knew it. 

Richie loved him—Eddie knew this. Eddie… Eddie didn’t know if he’d let himself slap the word love over the emotions he felt for this other man, but it was definitely something close.

Eddie was past his prime and yet being around Richie had him feeling so… 

He felt like a _teenager._ Not that he’d ever partaken in the things he and Richie did when he’d been a teen, but the sentiment was still the same. They couldn’t sit together on the couch without one of their hands wandering into the other’s lap. They kissed each other to the extent that Eddie’s lips were raw and bruised most days, reminding him every time he took a sip of coffee what he’d gotten up to the night before. 

Little by little, things between them were getting rougher and rougher—and in all the ways Eddie liked most. They were gearing up for a real scene, Eddie could feel it building between them, and he felt confident in the idea that Richie was going to let him be the one to initiate. Richie was going to let him have control—he was _comfortable_ with Eddie having control. 

Eddie expressed to him more than once that he wasn’t a sub, wasn’t sub material, because he was a control freak—that maybe the reason he and Mark were so toxic was because he desperately wanted control and Mark was doing his due diligence as a Dom keeping him from having any.

Like always, Richie rolled his eyes and stopped him time and time again with a, “Mm… Yeah, no. That’s not how that works.” Then he’d say that the submissive was the one with all of the control—the Dom was the one pretending. 

Richie _believed_ that.

It was nice...

They could make love, they could play rough, and it was nice. It was intoxicating. 

At no point in time had Eddie ever felt so in tune with a partner, so balanced and...safe.

With Richie, he felt safe. 

With Richie, he felt things he never really had before—which was odd coming from a man his age. Maybe not odd for a man like him, though. He didn’t date, in the serious sense, up until his mid-thirties, too afraid and ashamed and then insecure about all the things he didn’t know how to do at his age. What would Richie think of him if he knew the time he and Eddie switched was one of only five times Eddie had ever been on top? Eddie’s first thought was that Richie would laugh at him, but his second was the realization that Richie wouldn’t _care._ Richie wouldn’t feel one way or another about it. As far as he was concerned, he was the person Eddie was having sex with now so the rest didn’t matter. 

With Richie, it wasn’t endless fretting about the future or the past. With Richie, the only thing that mattered was _now._ He planned ahead enough to make sure his bills got paid, to make sure his goals were in place and being met, but he didn’t dwell on anything—he didn’t rip himself apart over things or lash out at Eddie for things not going according to plan. 

Which was how Eddie’s day ended up—like he needed more proof from the universe that Richie might not care if plans were derailed, but _Eddie did._

He was late because of the traffic he’d daydreamed in after voice-to-texting his boss to let him know where he was stuck on the freeway. He was behind because the meeting he’d needed to be in was delayed because he couldn’t be there… He barely even got to eat his lunch or text Richie during his lunch (which always made him anxious, for no damned reason), and then just when he thought he would be done on time, another wrench was tossed into the system. 

The morning had been so peaceful and now his day was so disastrous. Eddie was running ninety-six minutes and counting late for dinner. Richie had made them food, holding off as long as his stomach could bear (which wasn’t long), and it was now sitting in the fridge, wrapped in foil while Eddie hurried down the street to his car where it was parked in the most secure (though definitely not the closest) parking garage in the area. His meeting had run much, much later than he’d planned and Eddie was sick to his stomach with guilt even though he knew Richie was fed and happy—no worse for wear and just watching sitcoms on TV while waiting for Eddie to come over for his heated up, no-longer-fresh dinner of vegan mashed potatoes, salmon filet, and green beans. Richie had been sending him photos and even a video that Eddie hadn’t gotten to watch where he was clearly pretending to have a cooking show—probably putting on his British Guy accent or impersonating Gordon Ramsay. 

It was definitely something he’d end up watching on his lunch break the following day, or some other time Richie wasn’t around to overhear. Honestly, he was weirdly excited about it—about this somewhat famous comedian who had TV specials and wrote for various high-profile shows making a little video just for _him._

He didn’t know why Richie’s generosity, his abundance of obvious affection, left him so surprised, but it did. Eddie was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, and all he got was an unending shower of roses instead.

As he hurried down the street, Eddie’s path took him past a car insurance agency, an art gallery, a store that specialized in lampshades, and a second-hand clothing boutique that had new outfits displayed on its mannequins every single day. Just yesterday it had been a bride and groom, today it was a bikini-clad shiny, black plastic mannequin and Hawaiian shirt and swim trunk wearing white-ish plastic, headless male mannequin posed with a skateboard under one arm—held on with zip ties. 

Something about it made Eddie freeze. Something about the Hawaiian shirt with the powder-blue leaves against the red-brown background wasn’t...godawful. It was ugly the way all Hawaiian shirts were, but Richie would love it. Eddie felt like he was walking in a transition scene of a film, Richie’s face floating into the frame, superimposed over the headless mannequin. Yes. Yes, that was a shirt Richie would wear until the seams came apart. 

So, running a good two hours and fifteen minutes late, Eddie was in his car with a plastic bag containing one hideous Hawaiian shirt tied up in his passenger seat. He doused his hands in sanitizer, praying that the shirt wasn’t infested with scabies or any other pathogen that could’ve infected him in the brief amount of time he was made to hold the shirt after the attendant politely undressed the mannequin for him. The shirt was destined for Richie’s washing machine the minute he got into the apartment. 

“Ah, Spaghetti—you didn’t text me when you parked! I would’ve had it all heated up for you,” Richie said, squirming his way onto his feet from where he’d been laying on the couch. 

“It’s fine. I want to get changed anyway,” Eddie said, trying to bite back his smile as Richie came over to him. 

Eddie could tell Richie noticed the bag, but the man didn’t comment on it. He focused, instead, on wrapping his arms around Eddie’s chest and kissing him softly on the mouth. A welcome home kiss… A ritual Eddie expected to have stop after his first few days in the apartment but somehow never did. Every day that he came here, there was a welcome home kiss—and the time he beat Richie home, he made sure he gave one as well. Even if it devolved into an insult about how gross Richie’s breath was from whatever fast food he’d dug into on his drive home as soon as they parted lips.

“You still taste like fish,” Eddie said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Oh, that’s not fish. That’s from the hooker—”

“Don’t be gross!” Eddie snapped, shuddering at the implication even though he knew it was the salmon on his breath and not the essence from sexual favors performed on some prostitute. “I’ll take your gift back.”

“That’s for me? What did you get me?” Richie’s eyes lit up like a little kid and chucking the bag at him was all Eddie could do to save face and keep from showing how much that look got to him. 

He and Mark… They had had plenty of tender moments, soft moments. It wasn’t all bad. It wasn’t all whips and chains and scenes that got too rough. Sometimes they bought each other gifts or snuggled on the couch. Sometimes Eddie found just the right thing to impress him and Mark would beam at him and hold him and say thank you without need for sex. Even then, he had never once looked as genuinely happy and overjoyed as Richie did over the smallest of things. 

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God—Eds! Eddie, this is _awesome!_ Dude, is this _vintage!?”_

“I don’t fucking know,” Eddie said, trying so hard to keep his expression neutral as he walked past Richie to the bedroom to change out of his suit into his comfy clothes. 

There was space for his things in Richie’s dresser—in Richie’s closet. Not a lot, but enough. Just a few pairs of underwear and socks, comfy shirts and athletic pants along with undershirts for work and a few dress shirts in the closet along with a space for one of his black suits that he knew for a fact he could wear over and over and no one would catch on. (Which was where the suit he was currently wearing ended up.) He had ties, too, rolled up next to his socks, but more than once had worn one of Richie’s. He even got a compliment from his new boss on one of them. Richie had nice ties… Nice silk ties that Eddie enjoyed sliding over his fingers and twirling around his wrists when no was looking before tucking it back into his tie clip.

“Wash that thing before you go trying it on!” Eddie called, cutting off Richie who was still in the other room raving about this ‘totally vintage’ shirt. The man literally whined like a little kid, but Eddie heard the sound of the closet to the washer and dryer sliding open, the lid opening and then slamming again… Richie stored his dirty clothes in the fucking washer like an animal. 

A few seconds later and Eddie heard the sounds of Richie washing his hands and then opening the fridge—plating up Eddie’s food in order to heat it up for him. This was _not_ how Eddie was used to things going, but he adored it. He would adore it even more if he had his own place where he could return the favor once in a while.

There were certain roles he wanted to slip back into—certain things he did for Mark that he’d love to do for someone as appreciative as Richie… Someone who would look happy to be doted on and not just look at Eddie like it was his job. In a way, it _was_ his job as the submissive to serve his Dom, but a thank you wouldn’t hurt or ruin a scene, right? Mark had always said so, but Richie had him doubting.

Richie had him doubting a lot of things he used to know… 

What would things even _be like_ between them if...if Eddie let his defenses down and allowed them to have a scene? He’d told Richie that that part of his life was over, that he wouldn’t do those things again… He still had court dates to remind him of why all of that was a bad idea. So why did his chest ache every time he touched one of Richie’s ties and envisioned himself bound with one? Why did he still want treated that way when he _knew_ where it would end?

All this nice stuff would be taken away… All the dinners, the cuddling, the Welcome Home kisses—it’d all be gone in a flash. 

Or… Or would it?

“Baby, you want wine or just water? Or—Oh! I got an aloe, lemon-grass...fuckin’ something. I don’t know what it is. I was at the store today.”

“Wine’d be good,” Eddie called, smiling to himself as he pulled on his sweater. Before he left the bedroom, Eddie’s fingers skated over one of Richie’s balled up ties in the drawer a final time—feeling the silk caress his skin. 

If he asked…

Was it too soon?

Eddie’s heart thrummed in his chest as he made his way to the little dining table Richie had along the wall. Richie smiled at him and asked about his day, listened to him prattle on about his meetings and his projects and new team. Eddie drank his wine—glass after glass—while Richie sipped the same out of his own water-speckled glass. 

“I think… Uh, I think I’m going to take a shower,” Eddie said, trying not to smile too wide or look to obvious as he got up a little unsteadily from the table. Drinking was still a rare indulgence, especially on a weeknight, and Richie seemed a bit surprised when the last of the wine had been poured.

“A shower?” Richie asked, looking a little confused at first—a little sluggish—and then his eyes went wide as he seemed to put two and two together. They’d messed around the night before and it wasn’t typical they’d go two nights in a row considering how...well endowed Richie was. But exceptions could be made. “Oh! Oh, okay.”

“Is that...okay?” Eddie asked. He had to remind himself that Richie wasn’t like Mark. Richie didn’t just assume that making dinner meant getting laid as proper thanks. 

“Yeah! Definitely. Mind if I...brush my teeth first?” He smiled sheepishly and Eddie, through his haze of wine, liked him just a little more. 

_“Please,”_ Eddie said, more dramatically than he meant. “And use mouthwash—because…fish is gross.”

“My fish was gross?” Richie asked, smirking because he knew damned well that wasn’t what Eddie meant.

“No! The… The aftertaste—the...the smell! On you. It’s gross. Brush your teeth so I can take my shower.”

“Mm. Yes, sir!” Richie kissed him on the cheek when he passed him on his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Eddie stared after him, a weird swirl of emotions building and blossoming in his chest. 

Eddie never wanted this feeling to fade.

( ) ( ) ( )

Richie didn’t know how exactly it happened, but God was it _happening._ He felt anxious at first, reserved and worried, because Eddie was tipsy even after his shower. Eddie was still a little bit drunk when he pulled a tie out of Richie’s dresser drawer and brought it with him to the bed. It would be a lie to say his dick didn’t twitch at the idea, but it kind of scared him shitless, too. 

“Hey,” Eddie said to him as he laid out a folded towel on the bed next to the supplies Richie had gotten out. Yes, he remembered to have gloves on hand for Eddie’s peace of mind. Richie had to admit that once he’d gotten over the awkwardness of wearing them, they did make cleanup a breeze. 

“Hey,” Richie echoed, licking his lips as he tried to gauge the expression on Eddie’s face. He looked bashful, but not drunk and incoherent. “Whatcha… Uh, whatcha got there?” He asked, eyes tracing down Eddie’s face to his neck, down past the scar on his chest to his hands where he was wringing the balled up, silk tie. 

“It’s… It’s one of your ties.” Eddie was smiling nervously while looking down at the tie, fidgeting more and more until Richie took it away from him. He let go without a fight, but without it in his hands to expend his nervous energy, he started picking at the raised scars on his palms instead.

“I can see that,” Richie said, keeping his tone level as he reached out again to snag Eddie’s left hand, pulling it away so he’d stop digging at his skin. “You want me to put in on you?” Richie asked, just to see Eddie’s face go hot.

“I guess,” Eddie answered, not looking at him though his hand squeezed Richie’s tightly. 

“Usually, I wear my ties with shirts, but we can do a little birthday suit and tie. Dress you up like a little Magic Mike—”

“Not what I meant, asshole,” Eddie said, face burning a little bit brighter as he squeezed Richie’s hand again. 

Richie brought the tie up and stroked the fabric against the back of Eddie’s wrist. It had him smirking to see the way Eddie’s eyes fluttered at the slight touch. His half-hard, freshly showered little cock twitched to attention—from just that one, small caress. 

“If you want something from me, you’re going to have to use your words, Sweetheart,” Richie said, stroking his skin with the tie again. He moved it in slow, gentle circles, then let it come unwound so it could drape over his wrist. He pulled one end of it back towards himself so the silk wrapped around Eddie’s arm in one taut loop, then slowly coiled it back up while the tie hissed across Eddie’s skin. 

Every bit of him was speckled with gooseflesh just from the caressing touch. 

“I was… I thought, maybe, you could tie me up.”

“You thought _maybe_ I could tie you up?” Richie teased, having fully coiled the tie in his hand again. Eddie shivered as the last of it fell away, and then let out a soft sigh when Richie started the process over again. 

“If… If you want that. We don’t have to. It’s stupid—it’s too soon. Fuck,” Eddie tried to jerk away, self-consciousness taking over that pleasured haze that had been in his eyes. As soon as he started to pull back, Richie snagged him firmly by the wrist—dropping the tie—and then loosened his grip just enough that Eddie could break free again if he wanted to.

He didn’t.

“The only thing that’s stupid is you thinking I don’t want that,” Richie said, watching the way his words brought Eddie back down to him. “I just want to hear you ask for it like a good boy.”

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat and his face had gone beet red again. His cock gave another delighted jump, betraying how eager he really was for it—any of it. Still, he chewed his bottom lip for quite some time in silence before finally whispering, “Will you… Sir, will you tie me up?”

“What, I don’t even get a ‘please’?” Richie asked, hardly able to keep his voice firm. He really sucked at this Dom shit when it came to Eddie looking at him with those huge puppy eyes. He looked so shocked, so alarmed—like he thought he’d actually done something wrong. Or, rather, something wrong that warranted _consequences._

Well, Richie guessed he’d spent the past few years suffering the consequences severely for whatever missteps he’d made. If Mark was sick enough to stab him, he was sick enough to be overzealous with punishments, too. 

That was fine. Richie was patient. He could fix this.

“If we’re going to do this, I want to lay out some ground rules, okay?” Richie said, pulling Eddie in by his wrist and getting him to lean down for a kiss. It was tentative and full of nervous energy, and when he pulled back Eddie was back to looking self-conscious again. “You know your colors?”

“Green is good. Yellow is slow down. Red… Red is stop,” Eddie recited, voice sticking as he said the word ‘red.’ In an instant, Richie could tell the word was tainted—that it’d been used time and again to the point that it left a bad taste in Eddie’s mouth at the thought of using it.

“Good. Very good,” Richie said, pulling him in for another kiss. This one he made a little deeper, releasing Eddie’s wrist in order to cup the back of his head. Little by little, Eddie was crawling over his lap on the bed as their mouths worked together. He was such a good kisser, even if he was shy about what he did with his tongue. When he’d gotten Eddie comfortable again, Richie turned his face away to break off their kiss, a little taken aback when Eddie moved to start planting kisses along his jaw and throat once he did. “Now, do you want me to tie you to the headboard? Or just bind your wrists? How do you like it, Baby? You’ve gotta tell me so I know.”

He didn’t expect Eddie to melt against him when he asked—if anything he expected to get some attitude for not knowing that _duh,_ he wanted tied to the headboard—but all at once he had Eddie’s entire weight on his chest and the man was kissing him on the lips again as if that were some kind of an answer. Richie was about to remind him that he needed to use his words when Eddie panted out, “Headboard. Please. I’d like that.”

“Mm, me too,” Richie answered, capturing Eddie by the jaw in order to hold him still for a soft peck on the lips. Those huge, brown eyes stared back at him—warm and soft and happy, maybe just a twinge tipsy from the wine. You would’ve thought Richie had just gifted him a new coffee maker, or supplied him with more of CiCi’s vegan chocolate truffles with how affectionately he was staring. “Now, tell me if you’d like anything else. Tell me what you like. I need to know.”

“I just want tied up. It’s so much better just being tied up… I-I don’t want to be able to get free. I want to be at your mercy.” Eddie’s eyes were shut as he confessed it, then he was opening them again and looking all self-conscious. Richie really needed to find a way to get all of that out of his system. There were very few things he could ask for that Richie would balk at and say no to (very, very few things), and a little vanilla-esque bondage wasn’t one of them. 

The two fell back into another heated kiss as Richie moved to get Eddie beneath him. He couldn’t get Eddie to be more descriptive with what he wanted, so Richie settled on the idea that the tie was the whole shebang. That was fine. He could work with that. If he did it right, gave Eddie what he wanted and showed him that a little bit of power wouldn’t make him cruel, maybe they could do more down the line. If not, he was fine with that, too. So long as it was Eddie. 

Perhaps it was his inexperience, or maybe he’d just been a bit naive in thinking that Eddie would be easily submissive—especially with how he’d explicitly stated he _wanted_ to be at Richie’s mercy—but Richie was left sighing in frustration as Eddie repeatedly wormed his wrists free of the tie. He didn’t want to tie it too tight for a lot of reasons, and he didn’t exactly want Eddie _completely_ helpless, but the man was clearly not happy with being able to get his wrists free and determined to find a way out of his bindings before their scene got rolling. He would hold still until Richie had finished the knot, then roll his wrists or tug them until the tie came free—then put his wrists back where they were and sigh like _he_ was annoyed while Richie started the whole process over again.

“You’re making this hard on me, you know?” Richie complained, pulling the silk fabric a little tighter against Eddie’s skin than he’d dared to before.

“Well, tie better knots.”

“I don’t want to _hurt_ you, Eds. Can you stop moving your wrist? You’re being a brat.”

“I’m not _moving!”_ Except he was. If Richie didn’t know better, he’d think Eddie was doing it to earn a punishment. Truth be told, it was taking nearly all of Richie’s willpower not to flip Eddie over onto his front and deliver a few sharp slaps to his ass to get him back in line. With how much he was _squirming,_ there was no way Eddie didn’t want it, too.

Finally, on his sixth or seventh try, Richie did the knot just tight enough to keep Eddie pinned no matter how much he squirmed or twisted or pulled. He let Eddie do his best to get free while he leaned back to get his supplies in order. Eddie was still twisting his wrists around as much as he could with his eyes fixed on Richie’s hands as he pulled on one of the gloves from the box he had. 

Richie didn’t think he’d ever get used to wearing gloves like he was doing some doctor-patient roleplay every time they made love, but he had to admit that the process was becoming somewhat automatic. If latex gloves and no blowjobs was the only price he had to pay for sex with Eddie, sign him the fuck up.

“Are you gonna behave while I prep you, or are you just going to keep being a brat?” Richie asked, slicking up his gloved fingers with lube.

“I’m not being a brat. You just suck at tying knots.”

“Well, yeah, gay marriage only became legal, like, two years ago—”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Eddie hissed, his head flopping back against the pillows while his hands continued to twist in their bindings.

“Keep talking and see where it gets you,” Richie warned, pushing Eddie’s legs apart with his un-gloved hand. 

“I’m not in the mood for a scene right now,” Eddie said, sounding just as annoyed and bratty as before, though he let out a shuddering breath as Richie’s fingers (and the cold lube drizzled all over them) brushed against his hole. 

Richie teased his fingers around the rim, massaging it but never applying enough pressure to press inside. In a matter of seconds, it had Eddie twitching—his hole winking helplessly against the sensation—and chasing the feeling if Richie even slightly pulled back. Richie kept up a steady pace, delighting in it more and more as Eddie’s body fought to get more contact. A small bead of pre-come had formed at the tip of his cock and Richie stared at it, waiting for it to drip down onto Eddie’s smoothed, tense stomach. 

It did, eventually, but only after Richie moved from teasing Eddie’s rim to firmly massaging his taint. As soon as the touch changed, Eddie cried out and his legs spread even further apart. The little dribble of pre-come was followed closely by a second, this one leaving a thin, glistening string that led from Eddie’s straining, dark red cock to his quivering belly. 

“Y-You’re being a fuh-fucking tease,” Eddie whined, his left leg starting to shake as Richie continued to focus his efforts on massaging his p-spot through his taint. 

“I told you, keep talking and see where it would getcha. Not every scene has to be whips and chains, you know?” He kept his tone playful, but Eddie’s eyes still snapped open as if Richie had just told him he was about to bring another man into the room with them. “What? No one ever give you any edging? A little teasing? Hm?” He lowered his fingers to Eddie’s rim again, making his touch feather-light, just to make Eddie squirm even more. “I find, under certain circumstances, nothing humbles a submissive more than being reminded who controls their pleasure. I can...deny you.” He coupled this with the empty threat of pulling away his fingers, just to watch Eddie’s hips chase him—seeking out the gentle, slick teasing. “I can push you to the edge and hold you there for hours…” This time, when his fingers pressed against Eddie’s hole, he let the tips curl inside. Eddie moaned and did his very best to cant his hips in a way to force more inside, but Richie was the smallest bit quicker and pulled back—denying him the pleasure. “I can make you beg for it. I know you like permission… What would you do if I told you no?”

All Eddie did was grunt with dissatisfaction and look pitifully at Richie as if the man just told him this was all he’d get tonight. Honestly, Richie expected to be told to go fuck himself, or to hurry the fuck up. Eddie had sounded pretty certain when he said he wasn’t in the mood for a scene, but he was sure as hell melting into it now. Mark probably had him programmed—scratch that. Mark _definitely_ had him programmed to think all scenes were physically painful for the sub involved. If Eddie could handle it, Richie would have an incredible time teaching him how intense a scene could be without so much as a love tap being involved. 

“Would you beg? If I told you no, would you beg me? Or would you just come anyway?” Richie drove his fingers a little deeper, twisting and curling them while Eddie stared at him so helplessly. 

“I… I’d ask again,” Eddie replied, throat sticking the first time he tried to speak. He looked so unsure, like he didn’t know if that was the right answer to give or not. 

“Mm, and what if I said, ‘no, not tonight’?” Richie smirked devilishly as Eddie whined, his wrists twisting a little harder against the tie. 

“I-I’d beg,” Eddie whispered. His hips were rocking against Richie’s fingers, trying to get more already. “I’d beg so good if that’s what you want. I’d be good. I can be good.”

“You wanna be good for me, baby?” Richie asked, grinning so much it was almost a sneer. 

No scene, Eddie said. So much for that. Richie would feel guilty if Eddie didn’t seem to be enjoying it—and he was _definitely_ enjoying it if his twitching, leaking cock was anything to go by. Eddie had been with a “Dom” for three years, and yet he acted like he’d never been teased before. He was almost acting shy about it. Richie filed it away as something to ask about later, maybe after a movie night spent snuggling on the couch—some time that it wouldn’t ruin the mood or ruin the rest of the Eddie’s day. Was his whole relationship with Mark just beatings and sex? There were so many other fun things to do… 

And edging, well, when he had the patience for it, edging and teasing were two of Richie’s favorites. He could spank a submissive to tears and they’d still be a brat the next morning. Tease them for an hour and keep them on edge the rest of the night? All he had to do the next time they acted up was give them a warning look. No sub wanted to go through that experience twice in a row.

Little by little, they eased into it. A half hour had ticked by and Richie had only recently gotten three fingers pressed inside. Eddie had pulled so hard against the tie that Richie had heard the threads start to crack, and the man was definitely going to have bruises in the morning—bruises he gave himself because he refused to stop to let Richie loosen the tie or give him a break. Whenever he’d forget that he was bound and try to jerk his hands down—either to touch Richie or attempt to touch himself—he would whimper and another bead of come would dribble down onto his abdomen. 

For a while, Eddie had been begging so beautifully, just like Richie wanted, but now he was barely even forming proper words—mostly just groaning and whimpering and growling because Richie would only give him enough to get worked up, and then would pull back. He’d go back to two fingers, or _one,_ or take them out entirely to get more lube and then start the process all over again. He’d trace circles around Eddie’s rim until the man looked like he’d cry from the frustration, then tease him open with two gentle fingertips even though Eddie’s hole was already stretched and wet and waiting. 

Richie wanted little more than to lean down and lap his tongue over it. 

He could just imagine how it would taste, how Eddie would howl from it, how it would feel twitching against his probing tongue. One day, he told himself. One day he’d get Eddie to let him. 

Finally, Richie got Eddie right where he wanted him—spasming against the mattress and cursing as his hole pulsed helplessly around three of Richie’s fingers. 

“I don’t—I don’t want to come,” Eddie whined, hands digging at the tie holding him in place. He had three of Richie’s fingers tormenting his prostate and had leaked so much pre-come onto himself it looked as if he’d already finished. 

“Then you’d better hold it,” Richie said, not even bothering to try masking the sneer in his voice. Little Eddie who didn’t want a scene was coming apart for him like the good little sub that he was.

“I’m—I’m trying. Richie? Richie, please!” 

“Go ahead and come if that’s what you want,” Richie said, shrugging while Eddie stared at him—tears leaking from his eyes, face flushed. All from a few fingers and, what was it now? Forty minutes of teasing?

“I-I _don’t._ Please… Please, Richie—Please, Sir! Please… Fuck me. Please, fuck me. I’m—I’m being good. Please?”

“I think I decide if you’re being good or not, Eds,” Richie said, smirking as Eddie let out a choked little sob in response. His head fell back against the pillow again and his cock gave a pitiful little twitch, so flushed now it nearly looked purple—and definitely had to hurt. “Do you really think you’re being good? I mean, just look at this mess.” Richie reached down with his left and swiped his his fingers through the cold, sticky puddle on Eddie’s stomach, gathering the come on his fingers and holding it up to Eddie’s wide, horrified eyes. 

“Richie… Richie, you don’t—you don’t have a glove on that hand! You don’t—you don’t have protection!” 

Fuck it… If this was how he was going to act, Richie was going to invest in fucking large animal veterinary gloves that went up to his elbows. He’d literally cleaned up Eddie's blood before, put cream on his wounds without gloves, but he couldn’t touch his semen… Paranoid little turd.

“And I don’t have a hangnail, either. Besides. I’m not the one who’s going to eat it. Am I?” 

Eddie shut his mouth so fast that his teeth clicked, his brown eyes going even wider. He stared at Richie, then looked at his fingers (still a safe distance away from Eddie’s face in case eating his own come had become a hard limit after that show at the club), then back at Richie before he let out a quiet whimper and opened his mouth. He poked out his tongue just enough to cover his bottom row of teeth, then squeezed his eyes shut—holding perfectly still even as Richie dipped his fingers back down to collect a little more to replace what had dripped off his fingertips. 

He shuddered when the cold fluid touched his tongue, but only for a moment before he got to work sucking Richie’s fingers clean. The sight of it sent a thrill through Richie’s whole body, stirring up some of the darker sides of himself that he’d kept tamped down around Eddie as best he could in fear they’d scare him off. 

Little Eddie, who didn’t want a scene, was suckling his fingertips and moaning softly as he did—all tied up and pretty for him.

“That’s my good boy. Do you want more?” 

When Eddie shook his head a gentle no, Richie swallowed hard against the impulse to push a little harder—ask again, maybe, or promise him a better reward than just an orgasm if he took another taste or two.

“Please fuck me… I’m being good. Please?” He sounded so helpless and needy—so perfect. 

“Well, how can I say no to that?” Richie asked, leaning in for a kiss only to have Eddie pull away.

“Dude—seriously? My fucking… I have fucking come in my mouth! This is how you get AIDS!”

“Oh, my God! Eddie! You do not have AIDS! You don’t have AIDS! Will you please stop?”

Eddie pouted at him, looking like he really wanted to argue, but also like he really just wanted to get back to what they were doing. Still, Richie could see the hesitation in his eyes—the worry. He was _that_ afraid he’d somehow caught something after that whole ordeal at the club and he was determined that Richie not get it, too. Which would’ve been a really sweet sentiment if Richie hadn’t had his hands all over Eddie’s bloodied, infected back for days after that incident. 

“Eds, come on… It’s just a kiss. I’m not going to stick my tongue in your ass.”

“You’d better fucking not!” 

“What, is rimming off the table?”

“Why would you—yes! Yes, it’s off the table! E. Coli! Bacteria! That’s just asking for problems!”

One day, Richie was willing to bet money on it, Eddie was going to let Richie eat him out. 

“Okay. Okay, okay.” Richie leaned down again and managed to get a dry peck on the lips from Eddie who was outwardly pouting the whole time. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you want me to stop.”

Eddie whimpered at that, his fight leaving him as he slumped back against his pillow—sweaty and panting and still painfully hard. Richie hadn’t touched his cock once; not even to tease it.

Though he bet if he did now, he’d have Eddie coming in a matter of seconds—even if his little communicable disease PSA got him off the edge.

Even so, Richie made quick work of him—realizing once he had the condom on and was buried balls-deep that his patience had worn thin. Really, Richie was his own worst enemy in bed. He’d had plans to keep Eddie on edge for at least another ten or fifteen minutes, but really he could only hold himself off long enough to get Eddie to beg.

And only a little bit at that.

Richie had both his hands squeezing Eddie’s hips, jerking them forward with each of his thrusts to get just that tiny bit deeper. Eddie was sobbing for it, fighting against his bindings but never once asking to be set free or using his colors to say he needed a break. 

“Can I come? Sir, can I please come? Can I please? I was good. I was so good. Please? Please, can I come?” He had tears rolling down his cheeks and his leaking cock was making a mess all over both of them. 

“Hold it,” Richie managed to choke, trying not to sound mean—or too rough. The absolute last thing he wanted when he was this close, when _Eddie_ was this close, was to ruin everything by turning a playful command into a threat. 

Eddie let out a sound like Richie had twisted one of his fingers backwards, all sharp and agonized—but he listened. His hole clenched almost painfully tight, though, and it was Richie who ended up coming first—his teeth sinking into Eddie’s collarbone as he did. 

The little burst of pain had Eddie gasping for air as his own orgasm came crashing over him. Richie held him through it, kissing his neck and nipping it here and there while Eddie cried and trembled and moaned—his whole body squirming and jerking as he painted both their stomachs in hot ropes of come. 

It took a little while for Richie to pull himself together enough to separate his body from Eddie’s and to dispose of his glove and the condom. The whole time they were separated—Richie _still_ kneeling between Eddie’s legs, Eddie’s legs _still_ clamped around his hips—Eddie whined and choked like he was about to start _actually_ crying. Like he thought Richie was about to pull off of him and get up and leave.

“I’ve gotta untie your hands, baby. They’re turning fuckin’ purple. Can you hold still a minute? You were being so good for me. Keep it up just a little longer, okay? Then you can squirm all you want.”

Whatever Eddie tried to say back to him made literally no fucking sense, but they’d been fucking around for almost an hour and Richie couldn’t blame him for how out of it he sounded. Once his hands were free, though, he seemed to come back around—more aware of the fact that he couldn’t feel a couple of his fingers than he was of anything else.

“Well, you kept pulling and you made the knot too tight. It’s like you were trying to cut them off, babe.” Richie kissed his temple and tried rubbing some feeling back into Eddie’s reddened hands. “Here, keep them at your sides for a second. I’m going to get a towel to clean you up. Keep them at your sides until I’m done, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll try,” Eddie whined, already seeming to forget what he’d just said he’d try to do because he was bringing his hands up to his face to stare at them—like he thought the fingers he couldn’t feel were missing. 

“At your sides. C’mon.” Richie pushed them back down and kissed Eddie’s sweat-damp forehead. 

He hurried into the bathroom and washed off his own stomach and then his hands, then gathered up a warm, wet cloth and a dry hand towel to clean Eddie up. 

“Good. See? Was that so hard?” Richie asked, coming back to the bed and sitting down at Eddie’s side. The other man stared up at him, looking exhausted and disoriented—on the cusp of sleep and fighting it because he was dirty and Eddie couldn’t sleep if he wasn’t clean. 

Richie set to work, wiping Eddie’s face with the wet cloth first before working his way lower—teasing his spent cock just to keep Eddie awake before spreading his legs and cleaning up the excess lube that was trickling out from between them.

Once they were cleaned up, Richie got Eddie some fresh underwear and a shirt to sleep in, then left the bedroom—still naked himself—to get them both glasses of water. He had to help Eddie to hold the cup, mostly because his hands were shaking so badly. Blood sugar, Richie thought. He left to refill the water glasses and brought Eddie a little cup of applesauce from the fridge. 

Eddie, at first, didn’t want it, but quickly changed his attitude when Richie threatened to play airplane with him like he was a little baby.

“I’m a...grown fucking man. I don’t do that shit. If you’re into that shit, find someone else.” He tried to sound stern, but really just came off whiny and sleepy. He snatched the spoon out of Richie’s hand, dropped it on the bed, fumbled weakly to pick it up with his shaking fingers, and then finally managed to take a bite of the applesauce. Before the cup was even empty, he’d stopped shaking.

Even so, he needed help getting to his feet so he could use the bathroom and brush his teeth. He started trying to take a shower but Richie shot that idea down the second he heard the shower curtain rattle. Absolutely not. Eddie was going to pass out in there and fall. 

So he corralled Eddie into bed and got him all bundled up under the covers, then used the bathroom for himself. By the time he got back to the bedroom, Eddie was out from under the covers again and sitting on the edge of the bed with his head bowed—looking exhausted and…

Sad.

“What’s the matter?” Richie asked, his stomach already twisting up—his brain spinning backwards trying to figure out where he’d fucked up to get Eddie to look this distraught. 

“I should… I’ve gotta get going,” Eddie said, not looking at him.

“Going? Why? It’s the middle of the fucking night. You drank earlier. Dude, if you try to drive right now, you’ll pass the fuck out. Lay down.” 

“No, I… I should go. You’ve got work in the morning and I—”

“Sleep here every other night that I have work in the morning. Lay down.” It took about five minutes of coaxing before Eddie finally listened, and even then he was acting restless—fighting sleep while Richie fidgeted nervously with his pillow, trying to get comfortable.

Did he take it too far? It was just edging. Eddie never said he didn’t like it—except the rim-job thing and the come-eating thing… Fuck. He’d ruined it, hadn’t he? Being the gross fucking fuck that he was…

“Are you okay?” Richie asked, not sure what to do with Eddie laying on his back beside him—three inches of space between them feeling like fifteen feet.

“Yeah. That was… It was just more intense than I thought, I guess.” Eddie’s voice was rough, and a few moments later he was grabbing his inhaler off the nightstand and taking a puff from it. 

“Did I hurt you?” Richie asked.

“No! No, nothing like that. Just… I don’t know. After scenes with Mark—and I know you’re not Mark. I’m not comparing you to Mark. That’s not—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Eds. After scenes with Mark, what?” Richie scooted a little closer, feeling a little better now—almost positive that he wasn’t at fault once Mark’s name had come up in conversation. 

Eddie, though, was quiet for quite some time before taking another deep puff from his inhaler and saying, “Well, he never brought me applesauce.” He tried to chuckle, but it sounded so forced. “I don’t know how to...to get used to this.”

Richie was quiet a moment, letting that reality sink in. Mark punished him a lot. Mark liked scenes where Eddie was suffering and hurt, didn’t give him aftercare, and then sent him home to take care of himself. And Eddie, despite all his pleads of the contrary, could _not_ take care of himself. Not in that way. He was helpless after a scene. He was helpless if he got a flat tire or a paper cut. He was so used to being left helpless that he didn’t know what to do when Richie offered him the most basic of comforts. A cup of applesauce to bring his blood sugar back up, Neosporin on an infected wound… Eddie didn’t know how to _get used to that._

“Exposure therapy,” Richie finally blurted out, closing the distance between them and swinging his leg over Eddie’s thighs and his arm over his chest to hug him. “I take payment in smoothies.”

Eddie laid perfectly still and stiff for several beats, then sighed and slowly relaxed into it. 

“Fine. That’s fair… Did you set your alarm?”

“Yes. I set my alarm,” Richie said, happy just to have him ask about something mundane—something so like himself. He asked every night, like he thought Richie would forget—and acted like it’d matter, because Eddie had his own alarm which went off a lot earlier. 

“It’s going to rain tomorrow…”

“Eds, how about you let me be the one to take care of you right now, alright? I know it’s going to rain. Let me cuddle. Get some sleep.” 

Eddie sighed, seeming disheartened before rolling over and kicking at Richie’s leg until he moved it off Eddie’s hip so Eddie could sling his leg over Richie’s instead. 

“Okay, but seriously, it’s going to rain.”

“I’ll get my kayak out of storage.” 

Another disheartened huff. 

“I’ll wear a jacket,” Richie said, literally able to feel it as the words eased the tension out of Eddie’s body. High-strung little worry-wart. Little by little, Eddie relaxed more and more until he was laying with his face buried under Richie’s chin—drooling, though he’d deny it in the morning, and snoring softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I know this one was a long one. Poor Eddie doesn't know how to cope. He'll get better, though! He just needs some spoiling first. Richie will make sure he gets what he needs!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started my new job and I actively have time to write again, no longer stressing and fretting about how I'm going to pay my bills if my old job made my mental health spiral out of control. It is a good day for an update! Thank you all for reading! I am so excited to keep this story rolling for you guys.

Eddie awoke with his head still nestled under Richie’s chin, the other man’s warm arm wrapped snugly around him. His body was achy and sore, but comfortable in his warm cavern of blankets and his partner’s limbs.

Last night had been…

Last night was…

Eddie groaned softly and rolled onto his back, earning a sleepy grumble from Richie before the man rolled over as well, grinding his teeth. Eddie would have to talk to him about that… He’d end up chipping them if he didn’t get himself a mouth guard.

Last night was so much more...overwhelming than he’d expected. In a good way, he was pretty sure. He would’ve been happy just to have his hands tied to the headboard while Richie took him in his rough, attentive way. What ended up happening though… It was almost more than Eddie could handle—which left him baffled because, when it came down to it, nothing much had happened at all. So why had it all felt so...intense? 

Richie talked to him like drawn out foreplay was a scene. Richie made him _feel_ like drawn out foreplay had been a scene. Eddie had been so completely under Richie’s spell. It wasn’t nearly enough for him to call it subspace, but he definitely lost himself in the feelings—he surrendered himself so completely to whatever Richie wanted him to do. 

In the end, he felt about as terrible as he always did after a scene. He felt needy and insecure. He felt the unshakable urge to scurry back to his hotel room to shower off and hide his face in shame. All the things he could’ve done better spun in dizzying circles around his head. Why did he have to interrupt when Richie wanted him to taste himself? Why did he have to turn every request he wasn’t prepared for into an argument? It would be no surprise to Eddie at all if Richie were to pull back, stop asking him over so much—stop hurrying home to see him. 

Was it really so bad that Eddie wanted to start the process early? To be the one who initiated it this time? He would go back to his hotel after all was said and done, shower, sleep… He would wait for Richie to text him first, that way the man would think Eddie was more independent, that he wasn’t as needy and clingy as he was. 

And yet, when he awoke, there was Richie, still hugging him hours after everything. Hugging him in his sleep instead of rolling away. It was something Eddie could’ve only ever dreamed of. Even the nights Mark let him sleep over, they awoke back-to-back on the mattress. Eddie didn’t think, aside from a few brief naps on the couch, that he’d ever woken up in Mark’s arms. 

Eddie’s mind worked its familiar circles until he crawled out of bed and got himself showered and ready to go. He made a smoothie for himself, and a chocolate one for Richie. They were his favorite… 

Eddie found himself nestling the items Richie would take with him for lunch together on the same shelf of the fridge, so he wouldn’t forget one on accident. He found himself hanging Richie’s leather jacket on the coat hook closest to the door so he wouldn’t forget to take it with him, his umbrella leaning against the wall beneath it. Finally, he took Richie his smoothie and woke him up with a kiss on the forehead.

“Don’t spill it, asshole. I’ve gotta go.”

“What? What’s—Oh! Oh, the chocolate one! The chocolate one. Thanks, Baby.” He leaned up for a kiss but Eddie mistook it for him just sitting up and drew back, making things awkward. They both chuckled at it, Richie making some dumb comment about morning breath before he took a sip of his smoothie. Eddie leaned down to kiss him, making it soft and brief because he didn’t want to be late—and maybe because he was still embarrassed about pulling back before. 

“Uh—I’ll be working late tonight, so I’ll probably just head back to the hotel after work,” Eddie said, hoping his forced smile was believable. Richie, it seemed, was just happy to be drinking his smoothie. He seemed so different like this, different from the night before… 

“Are you gonna be off in time to watch my segment? I’m on channel four at ten-fifteen.” Richie was smiling at him, looking woozy and sleepy but so happy. Like he was the king of the world… 

“Yeah. Of course. Yeah, I’ll—I have it in my phone. On my calendar.” His face heated up when Richie laughed at him. 

Eddie left for work feeling uneasy and embarrassed, a cruel thought swirling around in his mind that after last night—after this morning—Richie would be making him the butt of his jokes for weeks to come. Mark always taunted him whenever he was awkward, whenever he didn’t move with enough poise—like their entire fucking life took place in one of his boardrooms at work. Richie was a lot wittier and quick on his feet when it came to making jokes, though, and Eddie didn’t know if he could survive the vicious taunting he’d no doubt earned himself.

His nerves got so bad that by his lunch hour, Eddie had taken one of his pills and was left feeling hollow and sluggish. He was so used to it that his performance never wavered. Sometimes, he felt he was more useful when he _did_ take the pills.

Mother’s always right, he thought.

Eddie worked even harder trying to keep that thought at bay. 

He would need to find himself a therapist in LA if he was really staying here. Phone calls were great and all in a pinch, but he had the lingering doubt that his therapist set her phone down and walked away from him sometimes when he got to rambling. He knew he could be a bit much, but the prolonged silences ate away at him. It was like he’d never told the woman his mother would give him the silent treatment if he’d pushed her too far. He really, really hated the silent treatment.

By the end of his workday, Eddie was stressed and exhausted. He had to politely decline an invitation to go out with his boss and some of his coworkers for drinks, stating first that he didn’t drink and then that he had a bunch of errands he needed to run. 

“Sounds like Kaspbrak’s got a hot date to me,” one of the other analysts said, laughing out loud at his own joke while Eddie fought to keep his face blank. The man didn’t know about Mark, about what happened, but Eddie’s boss did and he started to look concerned. If only he knew the whole story, Eddie thought. If he knew the whole story, he wouldn’t be so mortified by the idea of Eddie having someone new. Right?

“I really do have some errands—”

“C’mon, Kaspbrak! Spill it. No one’s running errands at seven-thirty.”

“Well, I am. Because I have a mini-fridge and it’s really hard to keep stocked up on groceries. I have to go to the store almost every other night. Not to mention getting my clothes dry cleaned, I have to—”

“Alright, alright. We’ll let you off the hook this time, but one of these nights you’ve gotta come out with us. Ryan’s going back to New York soon! We have to send him off with a bang!” 

That sounded literally horrible, but Eddie agreed to it just so he could get away—get home. Well, get back to his tiny hotel room at any rate. Going straight back to the hotel after work had sounded like the ideal plan, but his drive back was long—even after the peak of rush hour—and lonely. He had nothing to be excited for except a ten-fifteen special, some little bit that wouldn’t last any longer than ten minutes tops. Richie wasn’t really even responding to texts because he was so busy.

Eddie felt lonely in his hotel room a way he’d never quite felt lonely before. With Mark, whenever he was banished back to his own apartment, he just felt...calm. He felt like he could let all the pretenses drop, that he could be himself and relax (to the best of his abilities) and everything would be alright. Now, he sat at the desk and stared at his laptop until the screen went dark—then continued sitting in the dim light staring at his own reflection in the screen. 

He _had_ to be here, he reminded himself. He _had_ to get used to this. 

After last night… After this morning, really, Richie was going to start pulling away. Richie had seen just how much of a mess Eddie was, how bad he was _anything_ relating to being a submissive. All that time and effort, just wasted.

He was going to get dumped and be out here in Los Angeles with _no one._ Not a single friend. Not anything of his own…

Eddie sat in the cold silence of the hotel room, breaking his own heart down into pieces so it wouldn’t hurt so much when Richie finally realized how big of a disappointment he was and left. And through all that, Eddie made himself sit on the foot of the hotel bed and stared at the television, waiting for Richie’s face to pop up on the screen. 

When it did, his stupid chest filled with butterflies like nothing had ever happened.

( ) ( ) ( )

Richie hadn’t seen Eddie in three days. Which wasn’t normal after, like, his second week in the city. They were together almost every night, and now they just weren’t and it made him literally crazy. Eddie didn’t seem _avoidant_ but he didn’t seem like he was eager for them to meet up again, either. Every night, he said he was working late and even when Richie coupled it with “me too, head over after?” Eddie didn’t appear. 

It made him worried that he’d hurt the other man. The last time they’d been together, they made love—he just teased him a little. Eddie seemed fine that morning. He made Richie a smoothie, he watched his show that night. So why the hell was he hiding? Who was he spending all his spare time with if not Richie? The coworkers he never stopped complaining about? Richie didn’t want to come off like a possessive asshole, but Eddie didn’t have _friends_ in LA and if he was making them, why didn’t he tell Richie anything about it?

Was it some guy? Another guy who won him over and didn’t remind him every day about that horrible night at the sex club? That would suck… That would really suck. Richie couldn’t compete with that. But he also couldn’t give up on Eddie, either. Maybe he was just busy. Maybe he was tired or had an allergic reaction to something and wanted to hide how swelled up his face was or something…

Maybe someone gave him dairy or gluten and his stomach was still jacked up.

Richie didn’t know, and the not knowing bothered him more than Eddie’s absence. He’d gotten _used_ to Eddie being around. He’d gotten used to a warm body next to him in bed, breakfast waiting for him, someone he could talk to… Richie tried not to text too much, but damn he was getting _lonely._ In the past few days, it felt like they’d talked more when Eddie was in New York. Like they’d talked more right after they’d met and Richie had just gone home to LA.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t have a taste of paradise and then let it slip through his clumsy, fat fingers.

And so, after being ignored when he offered to DoorDash breakfast to Eddie that morning, Richie made the executive decision to surprise him with lunch. It was just the kind of thing that got him accused of being overbearing in the past, which was always odd to him. He could think of nothing more perfect than someone bringing him food when he was slaving away at work…

Maybe Eddie would feel the same—or maybe he’d get pissed off and finally say to Richie’s face what he’d done wrong. And, God, did Richie pray it wouldn’t be another, “If you don’t know why I’m mad, then _that’s_ the problem!” spiel. He couldn’t handle another one of those… Especially not from Eddie. He liked him too much for their chances for open communication to be fully shot already.

Richie expected to have more difficulty getting into Eddie’s building than he ended up having; probably due in part to the suit he was wearing to try to blend in with the other professionals. It wasn’t his most expensive suit, but one of the better ones. Eddie would recognize it, maybe, and appreciate it. At least Richie showing up wouldn’t embarrass him. Right?

The man who let him into the building, carrying a tray of coffees and two bags of food (some poor intern, Richie bet) joined Richie in the elevator and even helpfully pointed out the floor Richie was wanting for the insurance firm. He hadn’t visited Eddie’s new building, but did his best not to look nervous as he made his way to the reception desk. What did he even _have_ to be nervous about? He was just a bro bringing a dude some lunch. No one was getting outed. No one was getting made fun of. Just a bro bringing his dude some lun—

“Sir, can I help you?” The woman behind the desk said, perhaps for a second time, because she seemed stern. “Are you looking for Premium—”

“Yeah, sorry. I got turned around for a second,” Richie said, shaking off his nerves and continuing his path to the glossy, wooden desk. “I’m here for—well, I’m just here to drop off lunch for...for someone.” 

The woman looked anything but friendly, and it was not the sort of greeting he was used to when he went to businesses for work.

“Are you with UberEats?” She asked, looking him up and down, like his two-thousand dollar suit was a ragged heap of cloth. 

“No—No, I’m just bringing lunch for someone.”

“Well, you can leave it here and I can get it to ‘em.” She was still eyeing him and Richie was left stammering a moment before he chuckled nervously and shook his head. One more time, he told himself. He was not going to be deterred from seeing Eddie by a gatekeeper in a pink blouse.

“I’m here to see my friend. He usually goes to lunch at this time. Eddie Kaspbrak?”

Her eyes looked like they were about to bug out of her head at the mention of Eddie’s name.

“Kaspbrak, you said?” She repeated, looking from him to the bag.

“Yeah. He’s here today, right?” Richie asked, not sure what the stare was for. Was Eddie that intimidating at work that the receptionist was surprised he had a friend?

“Yeah, he’s here,” she said, tone implying that for Richie’s sake, it’d be better if he weren’t.

Shit… Had Eddie told them about him? Told the he might show up? Asked them to call security to kick him out if he did? What the hell did he do to Eddie that was so awful? Other than keep him on edge for thirty minutes…

“Can I see him?” Richie asked.

“Just a second. I’ll send him a Skype. They just got out of a meeting.” She was focused now on her monitor, but every now and then she’d glance at him with that same bug-eyed expression.

“I’ll just...sit tight then,” Richie said, moving over to one of the chairs across from the woman’s desk and sitting down. 

_“Kaspbrak,_ you said?” She asked again.

“Yeah… Why is that so odd?” He asked, the tension finally getting to him.

“I was under the impression Kaspbrak didn’t _eat,”_ she said, typing something rapidly on her keyboard—long nails clicking against the keys. “They order catering and he just sits in his office with a bottle of water.”

“He’s got a lot of allergies,” Richie said, imagining how awkward that had to be for Eddie. Everyone else got to enjoy whatever smorgasbord of treats was brought in while he was left out of the fun all together. 

“What’s your name, sir? He’s out of the meeting.”

“Richie.” His heart started beating a little harder. What if Eddie said to get the fuck out of his office and not come back? This lady would heckle him into the next decade. 

The woman typed something...and then something else. Then she chuckled to herself before typing some twelve page paper by the sounds of it before leaning back in her seat. 

“He’ll be right with you.”

Richie waited an ungodly, uncomfortable twelve minutes before the door to the right of the reception desk opened and Eddie was there—looking amazing in his dark blue suit, smiling lopsidedly as if he were trying to hold back. 

“Hey! I was starting to think you forgot I was here,” Richie said, getting up from the chair and hurrying over to Eddie with his bag of food in tow.

“No, just...Ryan. I was talking to Ryan about something. You—You brought me lunch?” Eddie asked, holding the door open for Richie and ushering him inside, giving a polite ‘thank you’ to the lady behind the desk.

“I’ll tell you what, Eds; that lady was about to punt me out of here like a football. Change her title from receptionist to prison guard.”

“Susie? Really?” Eddie asked, guiding Richie in the right direction with a warm hand on his shoulder. He definitely didn’t seem like he was unhappy Richie showed up—or like he was trying to hide him, though he did tuck them away in his office with the door shut as soon as he could.

“I didn’t expect you to drop by. I would’ve—”

“That’s the point of a surprise,” Richie said.

“What, me not having time to put away all my shit?” Eddie asked, tucking papers and folders into different drawers and slots on his bookshelf. 

“No, you not expecting me. I haven’t seen you in a minute, so I thought I’d stop by and make sure you’re still alive.”

“Well, I’m still alive,” Eddie said, tucking the last of his papers away as Richie started opening the bag of food. 

“I got you a burger. Gluten-free bun, of course. This place has vegan cheese, but it was either soy or _almond_ based. Can you believe that? Almond based cheese? Sounds disgusting. Anyway, burger—and I got you a little side salad. Allergen-free. I made sure they listened.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” Eddie said, seeming to slump down in his chair as Richie laid out the food for him. He looked sad, and Richie really hoped it wasn’t the ‘you did all the this, but I was already about to break up with you and now you’re making it awkward’ kind of sad. Richie had that more times than he could count. 

“I wanted to. You seem like you’ve been really busy and I want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.” Richie smiled at him nervously after setting down the plastic cutlery and crumpling up the paper bag.

“You’re not...going to eat?” Eddie asked.

“I didn’t know if you’d be in a meeting or not, so I ate before I went to pick this up. It looks good, right? I’ll have to get from there again sometime.”

“Yeah! Yeah, it looks fine. It looks great,” Eddie said, cringing a little at his own words before he started taking off his suit jacket so he could roll up his sleeves to eat. Richie found himself feeling anxious instead of proud as he eyed the bruises on Eddie’s wrists—bruises from the tie he’d been bound with. He hadn’t meant to make it tight enough to leave bruises, but Eddie gave him no choice squirming out of anything too loose.

Richie found himself in the chair across from Eddie’s desk, listening to Eddie prattle on about the work things that had been keeping them apart the last few nights. He sounded guilty, which made it sound a whole awful lot like he was lying, but Richie gave him the benefit of the doubt. He wasn’t pausing between bites to let Richie know they needed to get together later to ‘talk.’

“Actually, I was wondering… Or, well, I was going to text you later and ask if you wanted to go to this thing with me. Well, movie. It’s a movie. My company got vouchers for an early showing. Everybody gets two and it looks kinda cool from the trailers.” 

“Absolutely!” Richie felt the tension escape from him. Eddie didn’t look like he was inviting Richie out of guilt or remorse—and the way he picked up his burger and started scarfing it down led Richie to believe that the other man really _was_ just that busy. So busy he was neglecting to eat. 

“It’s on Friday—next Friday,” Eddie said, mouth full though he was covering it with one of his hands, which was smeared in barbecue sauce from the messy burger. “We’re all getting off work early to go.”

“Is it like a company thing?”

“One of our customers is in the movie or something. I don’t know. A friend of the CEO’s. So, I guess?”

“I’ll make to sure wear one of my good suits then,” Richie said, adjusting the lapel of his jacket, just to call attention to it.

“What, like this is a bad one? What is it, Armani?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know. I buy whatever is on the mannequin,” Richie said, just to see Eddie look gobsmacked before shoving more burger in his face. “Did you want to come over tonight? I was thinking we could do movies or something. I got more avocados to make those truffles you like.” 

And _boy_ did Eddie’s eyes light up when he said that. The way to his heart...vegan truffles.

“That—That actually sounds great. Did you want me to pick anything up on the way back home? Any wine or anything?”

“I’ve got plenty, but if there’s something you want, you can text me and I’ll go and get it. I’m off the rest of the day. It’s been boring.”

“You’re supposed to be writing.”

“Ah… Yeah, that.” Richie smiled at him, feeling better and better by the second. Eddie wanted to hang out. He seemed _excited_ about hanging out. Had he just been playing coy, waiting for Richie to invite him back over?

“Seriously, dude. How are you even going to go on tour if you don’t have any jokes written?”

“The tour’s not ‘til winter. I’ve got _loads_ of time. Most of it’s done. I just need to flesh out the rest. I can rehearse some for you if you want. Prove I’ve been working.” 

For some reason, that made Eddie blush and Richie honestly could not place why. He decided to let it go, though. Now wasn’t the time to go making Eddie flustered and cranky. Or, rather, this wasn’t the place. Any time was the right time to get Eddie worked up. In public especially since it made Eddie so much angrier to have to keep his composure for the sake of not making a scene. 

“Did you want anything in particular for dinner? I could make us something—pick something up.”

“Uh… Anything. Yeah, either is fine. I can help you make it if you wanted to wait. I’m not off too late tonight. Things are finally calming down.” Eddie talked a little more about the project he was working on in between messy bites of burger, his salad almost completely neglected.

“We can make those vegan mashed potatoes with something. They’re always better when you make them,” Richie said, the sneaky compliment getting Eddie’s eyes to sparkle while his mouth was still stretched around his burger.

“I’ve just been making them longer,” Eddie said, mouth still delightfully full. “Can you hand me a napkin? Sorry, I’m gross.” He made a little grabby gesture with two of his sauce covered fingers and Richie held one of the paper napkins out to him, unable to hold back his grin.

“That must be it,” Richie said.

“And salt. You never put in enough salt.”

“Well, you’ve got enough for the both of us,” Richie answered, just to get Eddie to roll his eyes. 

“Fish would be good… I’ve had it a lot lately though. Maybe—Maybe we could do roast chicken or something. That might be better.”

“What, worried about mercury poisoning?” Richie teased. It earned him a sharp glare from Eddie who didn’t find his lack of concern very funny.

“Yes, actually. I’d like to not die of cancer if I can avoid it. Thank you.”

“Alright, chicken it is.” Richie left the cancer subject alone, knowing well enough Eddie had lost both of his parents to it. 

“Maybe with some asparagus! That would be _really_ good,” Eddie tacked on before taking another big bite of his burger. Sauce and juice from it were dribbling down his chin and Richie wanted little more than to reach out and wipe it away with his thumb—not to be an affectionate sap, but rather to see Eddie fly off the handle from how gross the gesture was. 

Eddie seemed so content with the idea, so content with his lunch, that Richie was disappointed in himself for getting worked up at all. Eddie wasn’t _avoiding_ him. When did he become such a paranoid sap? It was like he was in high school all over again, thinking a day without a phone call meant he was about to get dumped. 

They sat together and chatted for well over an hour, Eddie giving his feedback on Richie’s TV appearance and sharing other little events from the past few days—like ruining one of his dress shirts with coffee and buying a couple new ties when he went to replace it. He met Richie’s eyes when he mentioned them and lingered there. Richie had a feeling the ties weren’t ever going to be worn around Eddie’s neck.

By the time Eddie politely asked him to leave (if saying “well, I’ll be over a little after six if traffic lets me” could be considered asking him to leave), Richie was feeling as giddy and love-struck as ever. He was practically skipping through the store, buying overpriced chicken and organic asparagus and a bunch of other shit he didn’t need but though might impress Eddie later. He also got bananas because Eddie’s supply at his place was turning brown and sad since he’d been gone so long between smoothies.

Richie got home from the store and had a hard time keeping himself contained as he oh so impatiently waited for Eddie to get off work. He even found himself tidying things up, just for something to distract himself. It felt like their first date all over again (well, as close to a first date as they’d ever gotten) and he wondered if Eddie stayed away so long just to build up his anticipation. It definitely worked, if that was his evil plan. Richie was practically bursting at the seams with excitement by the time Eddie sent his “OMW” text. 

He’d been prepping vegetables to roast with the chicken—onions and carrots, mostly since they were having mashed potatoes on the side, but with some diced green apple tossed in. Google said to stuff the chicken with a lemon while it was cooking, so Richie did. He also seasoned under the skin with enough fake butter covered in salt and pepper and spices to keep Eddie satisfied. By the time Eddie was letting himself into the apartment, Richie had the chicken in the oven—giving them a little under an hour to prep the potatoes and asparagus. 

“Did you get started without me?” Eddie asked, kissing him on the mouth as soon as he was within reach. 

“Just got the chicken in the oven. I’m hungry. Unlike you, I eat,” Richie said, planting another small kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth, just to see the man flush. He always did if Richie paid him too much attention.

“What do you mean ‘unlike me’? I eat. You brought me lunch today.”

“Yeah, well your receptionist thinks otherwise. She asked, like, five times if I was actually bringing food for you. She said she didn’t think you eat.”

“Well, I usually don’t for company potlucks and things. We’ve done a couple catering events, but I always get sick if I eat them. Even the salad. Every time. I’ve learned to just—”

“Hide in your office with a bottle of water?”

“And my lunch,” Eddie said, looking at Richie like he thought he was a fool. Of course he always packed a lunch. He wouldn’t _dare_ miss one of his three meals!

Eddie changed out of his suit into a pair of sweatpants and a soft, yellow t-shirt, then came to help Richie in the kitchen—taking over the potatoes completely while Richie futzed around with the asparagus. He rinsed it maybe two or three times, just to look like he was doing something while Eddie diced and boiled his little golden potatoes with care and love. 

Cooking with Eddie almost always led to Eddie doing all the work while Richie supervised, sometimes providing commentary if he was bored enough, but Richie was alright with that. He could cook on his own, but his skills weren’t as refined as Eddie’s—though Eddie did have a tendency to overcook everything under the guise of making it “safe.”

Richie was content, after the knives were put away, to hug Eddie from behind while he worked and rest his chin on the man’s shoulder. It would only take Eddie needing to reach for something for him to tell Richie to get the fuck off and give him space, but for right now, Richie was happy—and Eddie seemed happy, tilting his head against Richie’s every now and then while he worked. 

Richie had no clue what he’d even been worried about.

( ) ( ) ( )

Eddie had no idea what the fuck he’d been so worried about. Richie had dropped by, surprising him with a sauce covered burger that tastes so, so good despite how unhealthy red meat really was, and then asked him over for dinner. The whole time they worked on the dinner together, Richie was kissing him or holding him or snuggling him—really being a pain in the ass though it was so welcome after how lonely Eddie had felt the past three days. 

He’d been so convinced that things would be fizzling out between them, then Richie just came bounding in like nothing had ever happened. Eddie had been intentionally withdrawn for days and Richie wasn’t the slightest bit deterred. He said he understood… He said he could appreciate that Eddie was busy with work and—as they snuggled on the couch after a dinner spent awkwardly smiling at each other—that he was just happy to get time with Eddie at all. 

Eddie had goosebumps from how much attention Richie was paying him. Over dinner, they held hands atop the table. Now, on the couch, Richie was laying with his head in Eddie’s lap, reaching up so he could caress Eddie’s scarred cheek and his chin with his thumb. 

“It doesn’t wipe off, you know?” Eddie said, reaching up to push Richie’s hand away from his cheek.

“Hmm?” He sounded sleepy, and confused, like he really didn’t know what Eddie was talking about. As if he’d… 

The way his eyes widened as he pulled his hand away suggested he’d forgotten that Eddie’s scar was even there—that he was just stroking Eddie’s cheek because he wanted to.

He would never admit that, though. Instead of saying anything kind or sweet, he started sitting up and blurted out, “Shit. Looks like I’m wasting my time then. I’ll go get a paper bag.”

“Asshole,” Eddie muttered, rolling his eyes. 

As soon as Richie was sitting upright, he found a way to slump over onto Eddie’s shoulder that enabled him to kiss and nip at the side of Eddie’s neck.

“You know, it’s really hard to see with this scruff you’ve got going on,” Richie said, his fingers coming up to scratch at Eddie’s chin the way a person would to a cat. 

“Stop.”

“No, really. I forget which side it’s on. So much for my Western bad guy fantasy, huh?” He was smiling so sincerely and yet it made Eddie’s stomach twist up with doubt. Could anyone honestly find his mangled face _attractive?_ Even to fetishize it for a night of roleplaying—it wasn’t because he was still _attractive._ And if his face could be forgiven, what about his Frankenstein’s Monster hands? Or his chest? Or the whole wretched display of scars and marks that littered his his shoulders and thighs? 

No. None of that was “attractive.”

“Why are you pouting?”

“I’m not,” Eddie snapped, realizing that his arms were crossed to hide his hands—realizing that he did, very much, look like he was pouting.

“Babe… C’mon. It healed really well. I promise I’m not just saying that. If you don’t know it’s there, you don’t even see it.”

“Same for these?” Eddie asked, holding up his hands with their thin and jagged, dark brown lines extending from his fingertips to his palms.

“Give it time and they’ll fade,” Richie said, taking both of Eddie’s hands into his own and pulling them toward his mouth to kiss them. Eddie rolled his eyes, trying to swallow down the butterflies which rose at the small gesture. “Promise.”

Eddie was slowly pulled into a kiss, Richie’s lips soft and gentle against his own. It was tender and sweet and so much more than Eddie thought he could possibly deserve. He was unbearable most of the time—he knew that. What with his allergies and his habits and now his rampant insecurities that made him want little more than to push this man away from him before he fell in any deeper and got hurt even worse.

And, just as the thought “What does Richie even see in me?” crossed Eddie’s mind, a louder voice, one he was more familiar with, barked out, “What the hell do you see in this guy?”

Which was a very good question, because Richie had started pressing tender kisses down Eddie’s neck until he reached his collarbone—pulling the neckline of his t-shirt aside to do so—and was now putting on some weird, cartoon villain accent while mouthing at his bone. He was going on and on about eating him up, making him into sandwiches? The fuck was wrong with this guy? Seriously!

“Are you about fucking _done?”_ Eddie snapped, pulling away from him.

Richie giggled at him and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek—a kiss that was wet with slobber, the same gross slobber that was turning cold against the flesh of his neck.

“Dude! That’s fucking nasty! What the hell!?”

“What? Oh. Whoops. Did I get you wet? I didn’t know that worked on guys.”

“I swear to God, if you don’t fucking stop—”

“What? Will you spank me?”

“You’d like that too much,” Eddie said, feeling a weird thrill twist up in his stomach. When it came down to it, Eddie preferred to be on the receiving end—but perhaps, he thought now, it was because he’d never been given the option to play any other part. If he was the sub and his Dom asked that he administer a spanking, that was still submitting, right? That was still following orders and providing what his Dom wanted and needed, right?

“Mm, then I guess you’ll have to spank harder.” Richie spoke this with his lips so close to Eddie’s ear that his stubble scraped against it and made Eddie’s skin prickle.

“Maybe… Maybe some other time, Rich,” Eddie said after swallowing the lump in his throat. He crossed his legs for good measure and tried to keep his eyes focused on the television and not Richie’s gaze staring right through him.

“Another time, but not never, right?” Richie asked, still sounding playful.

“I didn’t say not never, I just definitely said not right now.” Eddie felt his face grow hotter by the second, even as Richie chuckled at him. 

“So...a maybe later, then?”

“Or a—or a maybe _never!_ I just—I haven’t done that. I don’t feel comfortable doing that.”

“Never? Well, I won’t force your hand or anything, but I am a _great_ test dummy. My pain tolerance kinda sucks and I’ll probably safeword out in the first three minutes, but that just adds to my charm, right?” 

Eddie looked at him, cocking up one of his eyebrows so he could say ‘are you fucking serious’ without actually having to open his mouth and speak.

“What? I’m a newb, remember? You said yourself it was written all over me—back at that hotel, remember? I’m not a pro like you.”

“I’m not a pro. I’m just...” What? A masochist? Broken? Sick? 

At least when he was with Mark, he’d felt validated in the things he liked. He didn’t feel broken or depraved like he used to when he’d have dark fantasies swirling around his head. Even his countless therapy sessions didn’t make him feel normal for the thoughts he had, but Mark and the world he brought with him did. All those clubs full of people just like him, who liked what he did and sometimes (okay, a lot of times) things more intense, they made him feel connected. Feel...normal. It didn’t matter if his decades in the closet, his self-resentment as his therapist put it, had led to him seeking pain in place of pleasure—plenty of other people did. They were their own subculture and that was just fine. 

Without Mark’s influence, without being at the clubs at least twice a month and hearing about what happened at them at least ten times as often since Mark thought of little else, Eddie felt it had all gotten away from him. Especially after seeing what Mark had hidden underneath his guise of being a Dom. 

If more Doms were like him, vicious and angry and on the hunt for someone to hurt—or worse, if _all_ Doms were like him—what did that make Eddie? Someone who would seek out a person like that had to be fucked up. There _had_ to be something really, really wrong with him.

Maybe he needed more medication—or to get off one and see if it’s effects were making him this way. Maybe it was all just a chemical imbalance that led to him being—

“You’re definitely more experienced than me. That’s all I’m saying. I need a guy like you to help show me the ropes.”

The ropes, apparently, were Richie’s arms wrapping around Eddie’s waist and pulling him almost onto the other man’s lap in an uncomfortable, warm hug that made Eddie’s heart skip a beat. He wasn’t used to affection like this—even after how long they’d been dating.

Wait, how long had they really been dating? Did their texting while he still lived in New York count? What was their _actual_ first date? That morning after in the hotel when Richie brought him tea?

Eddie really wished they could press pause and just go back to drinking tea before he did something stupid and ruined everything…

“I don’t know about ropes,” Eddie said, swallowing against the ever-present lump in his throat, “but I like your ties. And fuzzy cuffs.”

Richie let out an intrigued little noise and lifted his face out of Eddie’s neck to peer at him.

“What color were they?”

“Uh… Me and Mark had black ones. I wore them down, though, so they weren’t really fuzzy anymore.”

“I bet you did. You know, you make tying knots a bitch.”

“Well, tie them better. It’s not fun if I have to be careful and make sure my wrist doesn’t come out. I _like_ bondage. I don’t like _pretending_ I’m in bondage.”

“Well, I will tie harder next time,” Richie said, putting on an Asian accent, just to slip in the pun.

“Good.” 

“I’ll have to get us some fuzzy cuffs then, huh? Maybe red ones. Match those cute briefs you’ve got on.” This was coupled with Richie snapping the elastic band of Eddie’s underwear, which he didn’t even realize were poking out over the waistband of his sweatpants. 

“And a ball gag for yourself,” Eddie muttered.

“I might need one. The temptation to get balls in my mouth is getting too strong for me to bear these days.” 

Eddie let out an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp when this phrase was coupled with Richie’s large, warm hand squeezing him firmly between the legs. 

“We should go to a shop together. What do you think?” Richie asked, his voice that seductive purr Eddie was used to hearing right before they crawled into bed. 

“Like a...like a sex shop?” Eddie asked, voice cracking the slightest bit as Richie’s hand continued to squeezed and knead him through his sweatpants. 

“Mmhm. I can buy you whatever you’d like. Save some money and time on shipping. I know a _really_ good one. I got a lot of my favorite toys there. No one ever recognizes me. What do you think?”

Eddie, face still burning hot, found his mouth dried up as he stammered out his answer.

“Yeah. Sure, I mean...if you want to,”

“If _I_ want to?” Richie teased.

“We could Friday… After the movie?” Eddie looked at him, stomach in knots while his dick twitched at attention against Richie’s hot palm. 

“Sounds like a date,” Richie said, leaning over to kiss Eddie on the mouth. He tried to add tongue and Eddie shoved him away, ordering him to brush his teeth if he wanted to start _that._

Richie trailed a few more kisses down Eddies neck, then got up to brush his teeth. Eddie cleaned up their glasses from the coffee table and set them in the sink and turned off the television and lights in the living area before following after him. The whole time he stood at the sink brushing his teeth, Richie had his hand on his ass—beneath his sweatpants, inside his underwear, cupping his ass. It had Eddie feeling warm and fuzzy, even if it was so simple and absurd. 

To be so openly coveted… To be bathed in this much affection, all the time, even before what he knew was going to devolve into a soft scene once they got to bed...it left Eddie feeling so _happy._

With Richie, he felt safe to be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to be so much fun, you guys. Eddie and Richie in a sex store? Eddie and Richie having a DaTe NiGhT? Do they have open and honest communication? Is someone finally going to say the L-Word out loud? Stay tuned for more! Thanks for reading!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a fucking book in and of itself. There was a lot to do. Enjoy!

Richie wasn’t going to fuck this up. He wasn’t. Nope. He wasn’t going to fuck this up.

If he said it to himself enough times, it’d work, right? He recited it like a mantra. He wasn’t going to fuck this up. He wasn’t. He just wasn’t. Nope, nope, nope. 

The initial plan had been to go out to a nice dinner and then hit the movies, see that special premier for the action flick with some (okay, damned near all) of Eddie’s coworkers. Two dudes catching an action film wouldn’t be enough to have Eddie outed, right? Or was he already out? Richie didn’t know, but something about uptight, business man Eddie didn’t seem like the type to let his coworkers know his sexual orientation if he didn’t have to. Richie would prefer to be much the same, but with his comedy starting to _finally_ get the attention it deserved, he (optimistically) doubted that he’d have the privacy to date without the public—and the studio and his connections—finding out.

Richie didn’t know a lot about Eddie or how he was at work besides well-dressed and so good at his job they paid him to come to LA. He tried to tell himself that with time, Eddie would tell him more—when he was ready. But now, Richie was damned near panicking because he could play straight and sit calmly next to Eddie in a dark theater, but how the fuck was he supposed to sit through a fucking a _dinner?_

Eddie broke the news to him Friday afternoon that his boss and two of his coworkers invited them to a nice place for an early dinner and drinks before the movie was set to start. Eddie didn’t really sound like he wanted to go to this dinner but had rather been talked or peer-pressured into it. Richie teased him about rubbing elbows while deep down he was plummeting into a sea of snakes—writhing with nerves—and rethinking his whole outfit. He’d planned to dress nice simply because it was an early, special showing and because Eddie’s fellow suits would be there, but theaters were _dark._ Restaurants were not. 

He was going to sit across from Eddie’s boss, pretend he was just a straight dude friend, pray no one recognized him, and be on his best behavior… Because Richie was sure if he embarrassed Eddie, that would be the end of them.

So, with that being said, which suit? Or no suit? Just a nice shirt and pants? Did he need to do something more with his hair? Why did he suddenly feel so bloated? Why the hell was he nervous? 

Richie didn’t know, but he threw up, felt even worse, and then put on one of the nicer, soft gray suits that he had. He wore quirky boxers under them, just to feel a little more like himself, and fun socks that had sharks on them. Eddie was texting him regularly, saying that the workday was basically canceled because all anyone wanted to do was talk about the movie or talk about getting food.

He arrived at the restaurant a good twenty minutes early and was stuck sitting at the bar in the fancy steakhouse like a schmuck, sipping on a whiskey sour to calm himself down. It was just a fucking dinner. How could he embarrass Eddie and ruin things over the course of one meal? All he had to do was keep his big mouth shut—

No, yeah, that wasn’t possible. Shit.

Still, Richie kept it to one whiskey sour and pretended he was just a random friend when Eddie came up to him at the bar with about six other people in tow. He recognized Eddie’s boss who had a curvy brunette on his arm, but the rest were all new faces. There were two other men in nice suits, a sleepy looking blonde woman who could hardly be bothered to smile, and then...this poor dude who clearly didn’t get the memo. He was wearing jeans and a striped t-shirt. Suddenly, Richie didn’t feel so bad. 

“Richie, hey! I hope you weren’t waiting too long.” Eddie’s voice was different around these people. He cared that much about his appearance around them. _God,_ Richie didn’t want to fuck this up.

“Had time for a pre-dinner drink. Wasn’t waiting at all,” Richie said, mentally kicking himself again and again as he realized how stupid that sounded. Wasn’t waiting? Yes, he was! He _was_ waiting for Eddie. Why the fuck did being nervous turn him into a bumbling idiot?

“Good, good. Richie, this is my boss, Ryan Harding. His wife Erica.” Eddie did introductions and Richie shook their hands except for the blonde woman who was leaning over the bar talking to the man behind it about the kinds of rum he had. (Her name was Amy and her husband was Swenson.) The last suit was called Michaels and the young man with him in the striped shirt was his young brother, Don Michaels.

In response to Richie shaking his hand and asking him how he was doing, the man just said, “’Sup?” like he was sixteen and Richie could feel the disapproval coming off everyone else in waves. He was so thankful for this out-of-touch stoner because it definitely took the focus off of him. At least for four seconds until the stoner changed “’Sup” into “Hey, wait… Aren’t you Richie Tozier?”

“Tozier…?” Michaels echoed, then his eyes went wide with realization, too.

“Oh, my gosh! I actually saw you on TV the other day, didn’t I?” Eddie’s boss chimed in. 

“Guil _ty_ as charged,” Richie said, emphasis on the ‘-ty’ as he looked to Eddie who rolled his eyes. Still worn out on the tea puns, it seemed.

“I was standing here wondering why you look so familiar. I thought the same when I saw you back at the office before. I thought, ‘I know this guy from somewhere.’ Wow, Kaspbrak, how did you meet Richie Tozier?”

The question had Richie’s brain turning to mush and, one glance at Eddie’s deer-in-headlights face that he wasn’t expecting the question either. How had they not come up with a story? How did they not plan for this? Richie should’ve really planned for this, but he didn’t expect any corporate suits to know him or like him—or for one of them to bring their stoner brother who would go blurting his name out like he was Brad Pitt or something.

“We, uh—We actually met in New York, actually,” Richie said, cursing himself once the bumbling sentence was out. “He’s friends with my good friend Beverly Marsh. She’s a designer. They lived in the same building.”

“She makes great fish,” Eddie blurted out, like his brain finally caught up with what was going on and knew he needed to contribute. All it earned him were some weird stares.

“Anyway...she had a dinner party when I was in town and invited a few people over... She made really good fish...and, yeah. That’s how we met.”

Everyone except Eddie’s boss nodded along like everything was fine, like Richie wasn’t a bumbling moron who couldn’t weave a coherent lie to save his ass. Ryan was staring them both down, some cold, calculating look in his eyes that had Eddie dropping his gaze to the floor like he thought he was about to get in trouble. His boss, Richie guessed, probably knew about Eddie after everything that happened with Mark. He could probably pass it off as “sorry, I missed work. My best friend tried to stab me,” but he doubted it would fly. If anyone knew, it was Ryan and now Ryan was suspicious of Richie because he could tell from that bumbling excuse for a story that they were together and had been since Eddie was in New York.

Oh, shit… What if he thought Eddie cheated on Mark with him and that was why he got stabbed? Did this guy think it was Richie’s fault? Richie felt ten times worse than he had going in and sank into his seat at the table like a man facing his last meal. 

As soon as he had a menu in front of him, Richie found himself scouring the page for things that Eddie could eat, feeling a little more relief every time he’d find an item that was allergy-safe or could be modified without too much extra work. Even so, Eddie passed on the appetizers and just sipped his glass of water while everyone else got cocktails or liquor. 

“Do you ever eat, Kaspbrak?” Swenson asked.

“Yeah, I do, but I’ve got a lot of allergies. So unless one of you guys wants to run me to the ER tonight, it’s better if I just stick to what’s safe. I think I’ll get the chicken...” He was staring down at his menu, looking anxious as all hell. 

Why did he agree to this if it made him so uncomfortable? Richie hated seeing him so out of sorts. He looked ashamed of himself, ashamed that he had allergies and ashamed he was going to have to give his little spiel to their waiter in front of all these people. 

And, when he did, he looked defeated and exhausted once all of it was out and he went back to sipping his re-filled glass of water while their waiter hurried away from their table. 

“Shit… Can you even eat anything at all?” Swenson pushed.

“I mean, obviously. Otherwise, I’d be dead,” Eddie said, no punch to his words—none of the sass Richie was used to getting. The guys at the table laughed at that before dissolving into workplace gossip—trash talking some of the other teams, sharing stories about colleagues they thought were morons. Eddie, however, kept to himself. 

“You allergic to alcohol, too, or something?” Michaels asked, sipping his second cocktail while Eddie insisted to their waiter he was fine with just water. 

“Nah, Eddie gets wild when he drinks,” Richie cut in. “Jumps on tables, swings from the lights. Real crazy shit. You don’t want to see that.”

Ryan laughed because he probably knew for a fact that wasn’t true, Eddie looked mortified, and it took a couple of seconds for the other suits at the table to pick up the joke and start laughing. 

“Yeah, real partier,” Eddie said, shaking his head and staring down at his glass of water. 

“Is that how you got those scars on your hands? Smashing glasses?” It was Michaels’ younger brother, the stoner, who asked. 

“That was a hiking accident,” Eddie said, eyes still on his glass. “Fell on some sharp rocks and glass.” His hands slid from the table down into his lap and Richie’s chest ached just watching it. 

“If you like hiking, you oughta check out Joshua Tree Forest. It’s awesome,” Swenson cut in, seeming to pick up on the tension. “It’s a bit of a drive, but worth it. I’m an East Coast transplant myself and I can tell you, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I was actually thinking about going there. It was on my list of sights to see.”

This got the guys talking about hiking adventures and camping mishaps up until their food arrived, the focus politely taken off Eddie and his scars, though he still ate with one of his hands hidden in his lap beneath the table.

Richie had been so sure that Eddie was a hotshot at work, some big Somebody in the company that other people left alone. Now, he was confronted with the sad reality that maybe he was not. Or maybe he had been and what happened with Mark shot his confidence down to null. They didn’t seem to dislike him, but he was an easy target for their jokes unless Richie deflected it onto himself—doing impersonations or dropping one liners to keep the attention off Eddie. 

He found himself relieved when the dinner was over and Eddie was skipping dessert, saying he would see them all at the movies. They teased him for wanting to skip out on the post-dinner drinks and Eddie just grinned at them and said it was for the best if he didn’t go jumping on tables in front of his boss. 

As soon as they stepped foot outside the restaurant, Eddie was letting out a sigh of relief.

“That was _awful,”_ Eddie cried, scrubbing at his eyes.

“It wasn’t that bad. At least you weren’t wearing jeans and a t-shirt while eating a hundred dollar steak,” Richie offered. 

“I completely froze up. They asked about us and I froze like a fuckin’...fuckin’ deer in headlights.”

“Well, my usual fake out is ‘work,’ but that wouldn’t fly with them,” Richie said, trying to laugh. Eddie looked so worried and Richie didn’t know how to help him. “Are you afraid they’re going to find out about us?”

“About us? No. Just… Not _us,_ but… _me._ My boss knows, but the other guys...I just don’t want that sort of attention. Guys running if I try to use the bathroom at the same time as them or thinking I’m coming onto them if I say they have on a great suit. Sometimes, I just like people’s suits, okay!?”

“Yes! Me, too!” Richie said, a little taken aback by how defensive Eddie was getting with him.

“Maybe this was a bad idea… Maybe we should just go back to your place or—or, fuck! I should go back to my hotel. You don’t have to put up with this—”

“I don’t know about all that, but I found a dessert place a few blocks that way. No chocolate truffles but they have other things you might like.”

Eddie’s face softened at that. 

“Sorbet?” He asked. 

“Yup. And some cakes and things, too. Gluten free. I looked over the website for, like, an hour… What?” 

Eddie was staring at him again, eyes so big and soft and sweet. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t pull him in and kiss him, or hug him just a little. To Richie, it just seemed so obvious that if he wanted to treat Eddie to dessert, he had to put in a little extra effort. Eddie stared at him like he was the first person in the world to actually do it—or do in consistently. 

“C’mon. Let’s get some sorbet in you. Or they have a mint chocolate avocado cupcake thing. That one sounded pretty good. Gluten free. I checked.”

They walked together down the street, Eddie bumping their shoulders together now and then as they approached the dessert shop. The girl working there greeted them and pointed out what was on sale, then nodded enthusiastically when Eddie recited his allergies to her.

She suggested a few things, hyped a couple others, and they left with a little cup of raspberry sorbet and a bag full of other goodies that Richie would pick at in the car.

“We’ve gotta eat these before the movie or they’ll melt,” Eddie said, talking funny because his mouth was full of cold sorbet.

“Absolutely. So do you want to meet me over there? I could drive you back to your car after, but that’s an extra trip.”

Eddie hummed, then nodded. He finished his sorbet just as they reached their cars, then parted ways. Richie let Eddie get some good distance from him before pulling out of the parking lot, knowing how Eddie tended to drive and not wanting to see it firsthand and grimace the whole way to the movies, wondering how his boyfriend was still alive. 

Near the parking garage for the movie theater, there was a grassy area with some park benches where he and Eddie sat, dividing up and eating the other snacks they’d bought (though they split the mint, avocado chocolate cupcake). Eddie seemed happier with this food than he had been with his dinner, and Richie was happy to have struck gold just by doing a little Googling. And, okay, okay, he may have joined some local, online vegan/nut allergy/gluten free groups to help him search. He didn’t want to go somewhere he thought was safe and end up giving Eddie anaphylaxis. 

Especially not when they had plans to go to the sex store later. Plans which Eddie shyly confirmed out loud as they sat there on the benches.

“Yes, I still want to go. I want to go home and change first, though. Well… Back to your place. I don’t need to go to the hotel.”

It was a slip up that had Richie’s heart singing. Home, Eddie had said. He saw Richie’s apartment as _home._ He surely spent enough time there, only using the hotel for storage and occasionally a place to sleep if he needed to work on something late. More often than not, he was with Richie, and Richie wouldn’t have it any other way.

“We’ll have to go back there. I want to try their other cupcakes. This was really good.”

“I never would’ve thought mint and avocado would make a good chocolate cupcake,” Richie said, licking the last of the icing off his finger. “You’re showing me a whole new world, Eds.”

“You found the place,” Eddie snapped.

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t have been looking for it if it wasn’t for you.”

Eddie seemed to preen at that, too, before taking their trash and throwing it away in the black, metal trashcan a few paces away. 

They met up with his colleagues again outside of the theater, then went in and found their seats after Richie bought them each an overpriced cup of soda. Eddie was sat next to his boss and Richie had some guy Eddie didn’t work closely with on his right. They knew enough to exchange pleasantries, but when Richie looked to Eddie for his name, the other man just shrugged. 

Throughout the previews, they nestled down more comfortably in their seats and by the time the film started, Richie was able to sit with his elbow pressing against Eddie’s on the dividing arm rest. It was as close as they could get to holding hands.

( ) ( ) ( )

Eddie felt his stomach twisting with knots—formed of both anxiety and excitement. Dinner had been a wreck, but dessert and the movie were fantastic. They’d gotten to go back to Richie’s place after without any calls for more drinks from Eddie’s boss and could cuddle on the couch a while before Richie asked again if he was sure he wanted to go on their next outing.

Eddie had said yes, because he was still excited, but now he felt so nervous, too. Nervous for all kinds of reasons.

He was sitting in the passenger seat of Richie’s red Mustang, staring across a gravel lot at the illuminated sign for the sex store. 

DVDS, MAGAZINES, BOOKS & MORE

It sat across from a sketchy looking gas station and a motel that was probably crawling with as many prostitutes as bedbugs. It was not the sort of place he expected to be taken when Richie said he knew a store that was private where they wouldn’t run into anyone they knew or be recognized. It was in a particularly poor, but not necessarily bad, part of LA and it made Eddie a bit uneasy at the thought of leaving Richie’s car here in the lot. Still, he did his best to bite back the nerves and just...enjoy the experience. It wasn’t like he’d never gone to one these stores before back in New York. 

Back with Mark… And at those kinds of stores, Mark knew everyone by name.

“We don’t have to go in if you’re nervous, Eds,” Richie said, passing him a wicked smile that only served to make Eddie’s face grow hot.

“I’m not nervous.”

“Yeah? Then why’s your knee bouncing up and down? That excited?”

Eddie made certain to stop his bouncing knee and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. 

“Jesus, Eds. If you don’t want to—”

“I do! And stop calling me ‘Eds.’ You know I hate that.”

“Aw, but you’re just so cute. I can’t help it.” Richie reached over and attempted to pinch Eddie’s cheek, but Eddie swatted his hand away just in time.

“Cut it out.”

“What?” He was still grinning that mischievous grin that got under Eddie’s skin. 

“Just don’t… Don’t expect me to let you talk me into a bunch of shit, okay? I already told you I’m not doing all that stuff anymore. That part of my life is done, okay? I don’t care if that’s punishing you for what he did—”

“Eddie. Eddie, calm down. C’mon. The only thing I’ve ever forced you into is tea and DoorDash. This is supposed to be fun. We’re just going to get some fun things. Maybe some glow in the dark condoms. Some edible underwear…”

“Ew!”

“What? It’s the closest I can get to buying candy necklaces as an adult without looking creepy!”

“You don’t think buying edible panties is creepy?” 

“No… I mean, not so long as you don’t eat them in public. Do you think that would get somebody arrested? Like, just sitting in the park eating edible panties?”

“Probably! What is wrong with you?” Eddie asked, shaking his head as he unfastened his seat belt. “Who even thinks up something like that?”

“A freak of nature?” Richie asked, unfastening his seat belt as well. “Look, I’m not going to try talking you into anything. Just relax. We’re here to have fun. The only thing I wanna get are glow in the dark condoms.”

_“Why!?”_

“Glow in the dark lightsaber battles,” Richie said, shrugging.

“You’re fucking crazy,” Eddie said. He opened the door and stepped out into the gravel. Richie was quick to follow him, slinging an arm over his shoulders which Eddie shrugged off. 

“You don’t think that’d be fun?” Richie didn’t seem the least bit offended by Eddie’s rejection of his PDA, he hadn’t all night, and went so far as to hold the door to the sex shop open for Eddie as if they were going into a fancy restaurant. 

The man working behind the counter glanced at them just long enough to make sure they were old enough to come inside, then his eyes were cast back down to the counter where he had some magazine open.

“How much you wanna bet it’s a porno?” Richie whispered, right into Eddie’s ear, as they made their way past the scantily clad mannequins framing the front door.

“It’s _not,”_ Eddie muttered, struck by the weird smell of incense all over the store. Everything was just out in the open, no little corners where thieves or pervs could hide from the man at the desk. The left half of the store was magazines and DVDs, a small rack of paperbacks standing in the corner. Next to those were all the gaudy, pink things for bachelorette parties—cock necklaces, cock-shaped ice cube trays, cock lollipops…

It was the right half of the store that Richie was happily making his way over to—where there was a display of condoms and lubricants, massage oils and perfumes, and little oral candies that were meant to pop or tingle and make blowjobs more “mind BLOWING!” per the packaging.

“See? Glow in the dark!” Richie had his fist in a weird bowl of individually sold condoms promising to glow green and blue and red. 

“Do you seriously want those?” Eddie asked. 

“Of course! These are awesome! I’m going to get two of each… Shit. I wish they had baskets.”

“I already don’t want to touch anything in here. I don’t want to carry around a basket that every pervert who comes in this place has touched,” Eddie muttered, keeping his voice low while looking around at the walls and shelves of toys. He felt that twisting in his stomach again, this time with a bit more longing. The last time he’d been in a store like this, Mark had been eagerly encouraging him to try things outside of his comfort zone. 

Was there a sign in those days that things would end up how they did? Mark hadn’t _forced_ to buy things that ended up being too intense...but he did act very disappointed when they were.

“These look fun,” Richie said, grabbing up one of tins of massage oil and looking it over.

“If you want it, get it. I’m good at massages.”

“Me too.”

“Well, I’m allergic to ninety-percent of the chemicals in these, so… I can give you a massage with them, but I’d need gloves.”

“Really?” Richie asked, examining the tin more closely as if it had just bitten his finger and he was trying to find it’s mouth. 

“Yeah. I’ll get, like, a rash all over.”

“But if you get a rash, I can put ointment all over you,” Richie said, respectful enough to keep his voice low but still managing to make Eddie flush. 

“I’m not into having allergic reactions in bed, but thanks,” Eddie answered, glancing away from the tin Richie was putting back to examine the toys again. The larger, more expensive ones, were hung on pegs way high up on the wall—higher than anyone could reach without asking for help. Would anyone do that? Ask the attendant to get a ladder so they could buy a three foot long anal “depth trainer”? The idea was mortifying!

And yet… At the same time, the sick and twisted part of Eddie’s mind became hyper focused on that one toy, that massively long, respectably thick black dildo hanging high up on the wall. 

_I could handle that,_ Eddie thought to himself, which deep down had his stomach stirring up butterflies as he really wondered if he could. He’d have to do a lot of irrigation first to prevent a huge fucking mess, but he bet he could take the whole thing if he was patient enough.

Richie had moved on to the small rack of novelty toys—comical shapes like rubber chickens and rocket ships—and was trying to get a rise out of Eddie by proposing they buy one. It took about ten minutes for Richie to get all of the jokes out of his system (okay, well, a few of them—enough for him to focus, anyway) and they were finally perusing the shelves and the toys hanging along the walls. 

Eddie tried not to let himself feel shy—what was the point of being shy when Richie had already seen him at the lowest point of his life at that awful club?—but Eddie still found himself being jittery and coy any time Richie would tap a package and ask Eddie’s opinion. The hairs on the back of Eddie’s neck were standing on end and he felt the gaze of the old man behind the counter burring into the back of his head, though whenever he looked the man still only had eyes for his magazine.

“Do you like plugs? I do...sometimes. Nothing crazy. Nothing like this—like, Jesus. This just looks like it’s asking for trouble.” Richie was now tapping on a plug the size of Eddie’s fist, and Eddie wondered if he should break the news or not that he’d handled larger. Not often, but in extreme cases where he’d really broken the “rules” and had gotten Mark mad. Usually on purpose…

“I like plugs,” Eddie said, wetting his lips as the war in his brain raged on. 

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm.”

“Mmhm? That’s helpful,” Richie teased, picking up one of the starter packs like he really thought Eddie was some amateur. 

Eddie sighed and rolled his eyes before grabbing the larger one Richie had been wary about and one about an inch and a half smaller.

“These are fine,” Eddie said, not sure what to make of the baffled look Richie passed him—like he thought Eddie had lost his mind.

“You don’t like the little ones?” Richie asked. 

“I like normal size… Not trainers. I dated a Dom for three years. You think anything in _that_ is going to impress me?” Eddie tapped the box of trainer plugs Richie had in his hand and the other man was quick to hang it back up. “I mean, you can get them for you if you want to use them. I just don’t need them for me.”

“Well, I’m going to feel like a pussy if I’m using these and you’re using _that.”_

“It’s not about what I can handle versus what you can handle. That’s just stupid,” Eddie said, grabbing the box Richie had just put back. “I’ll buy these for you. How’s that?”

Richie looked a little flustered but nodded his head and continued perusing the shelf. He picked out one that was longer with two different sized flares on it, neither pushing medium-sized, and then looked at Eddie as if for approval.

“I can get you that one, too.” 

“Really? It’s too small for you?” Richie asked, looking so confused again. 

“Listen, it’s a myth that you lose elasticity. That only happens if you, like, wear one of these all day every day or really fuck something up.”

“I don’t think your ass is loose, I just… _Ouch.”_

“It’s not _ouch._ You just have to do it right. Look, you can get it for me if you want to. It could be fun not having one big enough to feel.”

Richie’s eyebrow cocked at that, in a way Eddie found delightfully suggestive—as if Richie were already thinking of ways to make sure he felt every bit of this plug or the even smaller ones. That could be a lot of fun… So long as Richie didn’t do something insane and really hurt him…

“Okay. Consider that challenge accepted. Goddamn, I wish they had baskets.”

“Good God. Give them here. Why did you have to get the condoms first? They’re fucking stupid and make it so you can’t carry anything.” Eddie rolled his eyes and took all the packages into his arms, relieved there wasn’t anyone else in the store besides the old man behind the counter to see him juggling plastic packaging of butt plugs like a fucking perverted moron. 

“Do you like these kinds of things?” Richie asked, already scurrying off to the next section while Eddie was fighting with the packages. 

“What kind of things?” To Eddie, it looked like Richie was staring at a bunch of female vibrators—none of which were curved for _his_ pleasure. 

“Buzzy things! Vibrators. I don’t like ‘em. I have tried them and, honestly, Eds, I hate them. You can’t feel it.”

“Well, these aren’t for us. And you’re probably doing it wrong. Look—Look over here. See these black ones? They’re for men.” While Eddie was still walking Richie through the ins and outs of prostate massagers, the old man behind the counter cleared his throat—very clearly trying to get their attention—and it made Eddie’s face go dark red again as his explanation trailed off.

“You want me to hold some of that behind the counter? We don’t have baskets ‘cause the lot lizards from the motel like to fill ‘em up and dash.” 

Eddie looked to Richie and shoved everything in his arms into the other man’s, giving him a stern look when Richie laughed at him before taking all the toys—including the one Eddie had only been holing onto to explain—up to the old man.

“There’s a promo on the Japanese pocket pussies,” the man said as he dropped the pile on the back counter.

“Is that right?” Richie said.

“Doubt you’ll be needin’ ‘em.”

“Right,” Richie said, turning his back to the man and passing Eddie an uncomfortable grimace that tapered off into a nervous laugh. 

“I didn’t want that one...” Eddie muttered.

“Then why did you _hand_ it to me?” 

Eddie scoffed at him and Richie teased him a little as they finished perusing the massagers. Richie picked one that reminded Eddie of one he had back at home. One Mark had bought for him… It’d save money to keep using that one and just be patient until he could go back and get his other things—but it’d be kind of nice, too, to throw them away along with his memory of Mark. 

So he let Richie pick that one and moved along to the dildos which Eddie found a little more exciting. Richie, too, seemed to find them...amusing, and continued to make comments and jokes about all of them. The size, the color, the shape, the texture of the sample toys attached to the shelves… 

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie! This one’s uncut! That’s so weird! Look, you can move it!” And so you could, and Eddie was forced to just grimace and watch as Richie moved the fake foreskin up and down on an ultra-realistic dong.

All the while they shopped that section, Eddie’s eyes were drawn to the toy hanging way far over head that he knew he couldn’t have and probably _shouldn’t_ have: The “depth trainer” that had him so transfixed that Richie had yet to see and comment on. Eddie did his best not to get caught looking so Richie wouldn’t figure out just how depraved he was to find a toy longer than one of his arms exciting.

It just seemed so… To be tied up and helpless and seeing how much he could take before tapping out—and then trying again soon to see if he could take more and more. But would that even be safe? If Richie got too eager or forceful, he could perforate something and really, really hurt him.

No… It was best to just forget about it. Some of his sick desires didn’t deserve acknowledgment. That was something to which Mark would have even agreed...

( ) ( ) ( )

Richie didn’t quite know why Eddie had gotten withdrawn and quiet as they were perusing the dildo aisle of the sex store, but he was determined to get to the bottom of it. (No pun intended.) One moment, he’d been shy but open about what he was interested in buying, what he wanted right now, what he might like to get “maybe another time”, and then he just looked...sad. Sad like he had over dinner when that fuckwit commented on his scars. Richie didn’t know if it was something to do with Mark or if Eddie’s confidence just wore off—or if he got overwhelmed by all the options. 

By the time they were in the little corner of the store selling BDSM supplies, Eddie was almost completely checked out. He had his arms crossed over his chest like he was cold and he was examining the floor more so than the products, sometimes even picking up his feet to look at the bottom of his shoes like he thought he stepped on a used condom or something. 

“What do you think, Eds? Ball gag to shut me up once in a while?” Richie asked, hoping that might cheer him up or bring him back from wherever he went.

Eddie looked up at him, looked at the package in Richie’s hand, and then shrugged...shrugged like a man who had been told he had two weeks to live but some experimental treatment might give him a few days more. As if to say, “What does it matter?” as politely as possible.

“It’ll take more than a ball gag for that,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, but the dildo ones kinda creep me out. I don’t want to feel like I’m gagging all day.”

“You get used to it,” Eddie answered, sounding no more enthusiastic.

“You want one of those?” 

“I didn’t say I _wanted_ one, I said you get _used_ to it. Kinda… Kinda glad I don’t fucking have to deal with one anymore.”

“Oh… Yeah, shit. I’m sure there’s a lot of things you don’t...” Richie trailed off, suddenly feeling the crushing weight of the idea that Eddie might not want to _be_ in this section at all—that he was just dealing with it for Richie’s sake but uncomfortable with it. “Do you want to get out of here? Go do something else?”

“No. Sorry. I just got really tired,” Eddie said, shaking his head and blinking hard as he tried to force himself to appear more interested. Richie didn’t know whether or not he should push it and ask what was actually wrong or just...keep the show rolling.

“I already know I don’t want to buy any of _that_ stuff,” Richie said, gesturing toward the pegs where paddles and crops and floggers hung. “But what about… Oh! Eds, look—look, look! They’ve got _all_ kinds of fuzzy cuffs. We got pink. We got black, rainbow, leopard, red—”

“I want the red ones,” Eddie said, sounding the smallest bit meek though he looked a little more interested in the cuffs that he did the other items. 

“Red it is then.” He thought to ask about the red leather cuffs the store also sold, but before he could even open his mouth, he had a flashback to that night at the club—the night they met—and how Eddie had worn burgundy red cuffs just like these ones...and how they ended up crusted in his blood because he’d fought to get free in the part of the “Scene” that Richie didn’t stick around to catch. “Blindfolds?”

“No.”

“Alright… Don’t need a sex swing. Don’t need a spreader bar… Don’t need...whatever the fuck _that_ is,” Richie said, tapping a package that looked like a harness made of the sort of spiked chains used for dog choke collars.

Collars…

He wouldn’t buy one from a place like this, but would Eddie want a collar? Was it too soon to ask that? Or _weird?_

“These can be fun, I guess,” Eddie said. He was grabbing a box of nipple clamps—the kind connected with a thin, heavy chain—then, once he had them under his arm, grabbed a box of black, glossy clothespins. “Do these… Do they weird you out?”

“Yeah. But only because I’m having flashbacks to my mom making me help her with laundry.”

A smile! He actually got a tiny bit of a smile before Eddie rolled his eyes and refocused on the wall...and went back to looking sad. 

“So… Let’s see. We got all kinds of fun things, some bind-y things, and some owie things,” Richie said, flourishing the cuffs and gesturing to Eddie’s handful of nipple clamps and not-for-clothes clothespins where appropriate. “What else?”

Eddie glanced over the rows of BDSM toys and gear, then looked over his shoulder at...something. Richie wished he’d caught what it was, because Eddie really did look like he wanted something else, but just shrugged his shoulders and said he was good to go if Richie was.

“Nothing else you want?” Richie offered.

“I think we just about bought the whole store. So no… I think I’m good.”

“Alright. Well, if you think of anything, we can always order it online.”

Eddie still looked down in the dumps and it weighed on Richie’s mood a little as he finally approached the counter to pay. Richie ended up carrying the bags because Eddie was still crossing his arms like he was about to freeze to death, and no longer answering anything Richie said as they waited for the worker to ring up all the items. Really, it was quite a haul and Richie was impressed with it. He just wished Eddie were a little more excited.

God, he hoped Eddie hadn’t changed his mind. Richie knew the lightsaber condoms were a bad idea…

“Everything okay?” Richie asked as they got back on the freeway. Eddie had been so quiet that it was really getting under his skin, and he was so afraid he’d done or said something wrong that made the man start having second thoughts—and not just about the kinky stuff but _them_ as a whole.

Everything else had gone perfect tonight (aside from the asshole commenting on his scars). Everything had been fine and Eddie was happy with his desserts and enjoyed the movie. Now he looked depressed and Richie just felt terrible.

“Yeah...”

“You sure? Because you look like I just ran over your puppy or something.”

“I’m fine. It’s just been a minute since...since I had to think about any of that stuff,” Eddie said, gesturing at the bag in the backseat.

“Sex toys?” Richie asked, knowing he was wrong but not sure how else to get Eddie talking.

“I guess…”

“Look, if I… If I said something or did something in there that upset you or embarrassed you—”

“What? No. It’s not about that. And going anywhere with you is embarrassing anyway.”

“Ouch!” Richie said, chuckling a little. The bratty look Eddie passed him spoke volumes. “Sorry. I’m just worried. I like you. I don’t want to fuck all this up by being...I don’t know, overzealous? I just want you to know that...that I’m okay with whatever, you know? As long as it’s you—fuck, we could just play patty-cake all goddamned day and I’d still be happy.”

“Well, I’m not into age-play, so that’s a no on patty-cake,” Eddie answered. 

“Shit. Never mind then. Take off your seat belt. I’mma slow down so you can just roll out of the car without me having to stop.”

Eddie rolled his eyes but didn’t laugh.

“Are you into that shit?”

“Not like diapers and pacifiers and shit, but if you wanted to call me daddy, that’d be kinda hot.”

“I _don’t_ want to call you daddy. I want a _Dom_ Dom, not a Daddy Dom. I want a _Master._ A...a Sir.”

“Okay… So I can’t call you princess?”

“I’m a _man!”_ So fussy, but it was still cute as hell. He was a man alright. A man who couldn’t change his own tire without a little moral support and coaching—and who couldn’t bear to get his hands dirty or touch a bug.

“Okay, how about kitten?”

“Kitten’s fine, I guess,” Eddie answered, looking away out the window. “I… I like angel. I like when...when I make my Dom happy and he calls me angel.”

“Well, that’s fitting because you are a fuckin’ angel. Such a pretty little doll.” Richie knew he was pushing it, but when he glanced over at Eddie, the other man looked like he melted into his seat from the compliment. “One of these days we’re going to have to sit down so we can talk about what you like.”

“What, like a board meeting? Want me to wear my best suit?”

“I do like a little roleplay. Do we both call each other Sir? Do two Doms make a—”

“I’m not a Dom… And it’d weird me out if someone called _me_ Sir in bed. I’d probably think I’m at fucking work.”

“So that’s a no on the switching then?” Richie asked, trying to keep his tone free of any inflection so Eddie wouldn’t feel compelled to backpedal for Richie’s sake or feel guilty about saying it wasn’t his scene.

“I mean… I wouldn’t mind it once in a while, maybe, but I’m not a _Dom._ I just...I feel like a fraud if I even _think_ about—”

“A _fraud?_ Eddie, it’s—it’s sex! It’s sex between us. There’s no way for you to be a fraud unless halfway through your fuckin’ skin falls off and you’re a body snatcher like the cockroach from _Men in Black.”_ The word ‘cockroach’ made Eddie gag. “I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, but I don’t want you to think that branching out _at all_ makes you some kind of phony. What we do together, it’s just supposed to be _fun._ I’m not some ‘professional Dom’ like your asshole ex. I don’t have all kinds of rules about what we have to stick to when we mess around.”

“I’m just saying I don’t want to Dom. I can top you. That’s _fine!_ I just don’t… I don’t want to talk down to you. I don’t want to _punish_ you or—or try to keep control of you. I just don’t like doing that. I don’t _want_ that.” Honestly, he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself of that, but Richie didn’t push it.

“So you won’t ever have to do it,” Richie said, keeping his expression and his voice as calm as he could. Eddie rose his voice as if Richie were actively arguing against him—defensive to the point he almost seemed hostile. “Look, I just like getting dicked from time to time. It doesn’t have to be kinky.”

“Well… Well, yeah, then that’s fine,” Eddie said, glancing over at him. He looked so uncomfortable—like all the trust and confidence that he’d had for Richie was stripped away. “I’m sorry if I’m over complicating things. I just… I know what I am doesn’t...doesn’t _mesh_ with most people.”

“Yeah, and...? What I am doesn’t vibe with a lot of people either. That’s why I was single for so long before I met you. But, Eddie, we _fit._ We fit together… We really do. So you don’t need to worry so much. I’m not going to do anything you’re not comfortable with, and I’m fine if you don’t want to play into some of my fantasies. I’m sure you have things you like to do that I’m just not cool with. Like having sex in public dungeons while everybody watches me. I get performance anxiety bad enough when I do my stand-up. I’d have to pop, like, fifty Viagra just to keep it going.”

Eddie did look a little disappointed, but then seemed to come to some internal agreement because he nodded quite assuredly and let out a heavy sigh. 

“I probably couldn’t do another public show anyway… I always wanted to. Because Mark liked it and...it was exciting, but… Ever since that night, whenever I think about it, all I can think is _all those people_ saw what was happening and they left me there, too. _All those people,_ even the Master, he...he just let it keep happening and I was so far gone I couldn’t _tell_ what was happening. Mark blames me for going into subspace, but it wasn’t my _fault.”_

“It was definitely _not_ your fault,” Richie said, nodding though he stared straight ahead at the traffic.

“I just… I can’t understand why no one stopped him. I mean, you weren’t there. You went upstairs but...all those other people. Am I that worthless?” He asked it like it was an honest to god question and Richie almost hit the car in front of him because his brain shut off for a moment just to process it.

“Eddie, they’re assholes. Those people were fucking sick. Anyone who stayed down there was _sick._ It doesn’t say anything about you. It was _them._ Shit… I-I could be blamed, too, you know? I went upstairs—I left you down there when I knew what was going on wasn’t right.”

“What were you gonna do? Punch Mark in the jaw and carry me out of there? I couldn’t even walk on my own… Real fucking mess.”

“Anyone who’d been in your position would’ve been a mess, Eddie. Mark got mad that other guy showed him up and he _abused_ you in front of all those people. They let it happen. _I_ let it happen—”

“I don’t...want to talk about this anymore. Can we...can we stop somewhere? I need something to drink. I feel like I’m going to fuckin’ pass out.”

So they stopped at a gas station and Richie bought them both bottles of soda and a bottle of water for Eddie in case he decided his blood sugar wasn’t the reason he felt lightheaded. He also found him the only allergy-friendly snack he could find—which just so happened to be an eight dollar bag of beef jerky—and then hurried back to the car.

Eddie still looked pale, even in the glow from the lamplights and headlights around them, but his eyes lit up a little at the jerky.

“Oh! I like this kind. I’m glad you didn’t get the teriyaki flavor, though. That one’s just a little too salty for me.”

“Mind if I have a piece?” Richie asked, nestling his bottle of soda into the cup holder on his door so that Eddie could use both of the ones in the middle.

He seemed better after he’d eaten something and was back to, somewhat, normal by the time they arrived at Richie’s apartment. Eddie had had a few sips of his soda, but had completely finished the bottle of water and was peeling off the label so he could put it in the recycle bin, his soda tucked away in the fridge. 

“Do you, uh… Do you care if I open a bottle of your wine?” Eddie asked, gesturing to one of the bottles on the bottom shelf. Alcohol, with Eddie, almost always meant he had something he wanted and was too afraid to say it or ask for it sober, but Richie felt more anxiety than he usually did as he poured them both glasses of Chardonnay. 

He hoped whatever Eddie had to say or ask was a good thing… Not a “hey, I’ve decided we’re not working out, goodbye,” kind of thing.

He was nervous… He was really, really fucking nervous. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Eddie didn’t normally like to drink. It was bad for your health, overall, and led to bad decisions and regret. However, the more times he drank with Richie, the more he realized that...well, it wasn’t so bad. Richie didn’t leave him to stumble and fall over the curb and into the street like Mark had the one time they’d gone out “bar hopping.” That being said, he and Richie didn’t exactly _go_ anywhere to drink when they did. It was usually started over a meal somewhere—like that first time at Bev’s place or, usually, at Richie’s. 

Eddie felt safe with him. Richie had never pushed him too far out of his comfort zone. Richie had never pushed him to keep drinking when he said he was done—even if there was drink still left in his glass. No, Richie took care of Eddie when he was tipsy, wasted even, and Eddie—finally—was letting himself enjoy it. It was like slipping under when he was starting a scene. He was relinquishing the control he typically clutched onto for dear life and it was so...relieving. 

He was with Richie on the couch, snuggled under his arm on his fourth or fifth glass of wine since they got home—no food in his stomach except the jerky they’d had—and happily holding the other man’s hand while they watched TV together. Well, Richie watched the TV. Eddie watched Richie watch TV while his head spun whenever he took too long to blink. He felt weightless and giddy—tired beyond all description—and happy. He certainly felt better than he had all day, which was probably bad but he didn’t care. Richie was hugging him and Eddie was content to just be happy with that. 

“Why are you staring at my ugly mug when Captain America is running around in form-fitted fuckin’...spandex.”

“Don’t like men in spandex,” Eddie said, before pondering over whether or not that was true. He wasn’t sure. Right now, as far as he was concerned, Richie was here and Captain America was pre-recorded and much less interesting.

“I’m sorry… What the fuck did you just say?” Richie looked at him, a grin cracking up his face in the best of ways. He was two seconds away from busting out laughing and his bright red cheeks gave him away.

“I said I _don’t like men in spandex,”_ Eddie repeated, feeling it this time as his words slurred. 

“I think it’s time I cut you off, babe,” Richie said, grabbing the glass of wine that was on the coffee table—the glass that was Eddie’s—and taking a long drink from what was left.

“Hey! No—No, no!”

“No, no? Angel, you can’t even keep your eyes open. I don’t want you getting sick.” 

Eddie whined, but the words left him feeling...weightless. Bubbly. “I’m not sick. That was mine. I know when to stop.” He fought hard to sit up and suddenly the whole room was spinning and he was crashing back against Richie’s chest.

“What was that you were saying?” Richie asked, laughing heartily as Eddie squirmed around to get comfortable again. Richie’s arm found its way around him and Eddie was in an even more snug position than he had been before, his heart swelling as he rested with his head on Richie’s chest.

When did Richie lay down? When did a Western come on? 

“What happened to _Captain America?”_

“You fell asleep and it was already almost over.”

“I didn’t fall asleep,” Eddie argued, rubbing his cheek on the soft fabric of Richie’s t-shirt. From here, he could feel each breath the man took, hear each beat of his heart… All around him, he felt the warmth of Richie’s body—his chest beneath him, his arms wrapped around him. 

“Sure you didn’t, kitten. You also didn’t kill a bottle and a half of wine all by yourself.”

“Yeah, you helped,” Eddie argued. 

“Babe, I had two glasses and just finished, like, half your last one.”

“Yeah, so it wasn’t a _full_ two and a half!”

“You love arguing so much you should’ve been a lawyer.”

Eddie whined at that, hoping that he hadn’t really made Richie mad. Did it really _matter_ how much he drank? It wasn’t like he had a problem… Did Richie think he had a drinking problem?

“I think it’s time we got some sleep. We had a long day. Didn’t we?”

“I don’t want to go to bed. I want to stay up. I want to keep talking to you.” He felt every bit like a little kid and couldn’t help himself—he felt like a little boy pleading with his mother to be allowed to stay up late. 

“Oh, yeah?” Richie asked, nestling down a little further on the couch. “You got somethin’ you wanna say to me, punk?” Richie tacked on, putting on some kind of New York accent. Eddie did all he could and climbed up his body the slightest bit to kiss him on the mouth. It was soft and dry, and he could feel Richie smiling against him the whole time. “You know, a better place to make out is in bed. After you’ve brushed your teeth and changed into your comfy clothes… How does that sound?”

“No.”

“Aw… Well, then you’d better come up with some good conversation or you’re going to put yourself to sleep, kitten.”

“I’m not even tired,” Eddie argued, pressing a line of kisses down Richie’s neck. The scrape of his stubble against Eddie’s lips felt even more intoxicating than the wine. 

“Yeah? Then why are your eyes closed? Do you need me to carry you to bed?”

Eddie protested that he wanted to keep talking, which spurred Richie to laugh at him and ask him, “Talking about what? How you don’t want to sleep?”

“Yes.”

This got Richie laughing again and Eddie basked in the sound, just as he basked in all the attention he was getting and the warmth. 

“Hey!” Eddie called out, managing to prop himself up on his elbows so he could hold himself up over Richie on the couch.

“What?” Richie asked, smiling at him before reaching up to cup his cheek—the scarred and ruined one. It was a touch so soft and gentle that it had Eddie’s mind going blank again as he leaned into it. “Earth to Eddie… Ground Control to Major Tom… Eds? You fall asleep on me?”

“What? No! Hey, I’m talking to you.” Eddie felt dizzy as he pulled his head from Richie’s palm. 

“Really? Because it looks like you’re falling asleep. C’mon, baby. Let me get you washed up for bed.”

Richie tried to sit up and Eddie plopped down on his chest just to keep him trapped—because he knew Richie would let him do it.

“I had… I had fun today,” Eddie said, his words muffled by Richie’s warm chest. He wondered if Richie could even hear it at all, because his heart was beating _so_ loud.

“That’s good. For a while there, you looked really upset.”

“No!” Eddie argued this vehemently, as best he could, even though he knew he’d been less than behaved at the store.

“One word answers aren’t valid arguments. Sorry to say,” Richie teased.

“I was upset?” Eddie said, feeling it as his tongue failed to form the words. It was really frustrating, but it kind of made him want to laugh, too. 

No Mark scolding him. No tripping and falling and having a fuck of a time getting back up. Just Richie laughing at him and holding him safe and secure on the couch. 

“Yes, angel, you were upset. Do you want to talk about why? Since you’re so keen on talking instead of going five feet to the bathroom and getting a nice _hot shower?_ Doesn’t that sound nice? A warm shower?”

“I wasn’t upset. I was just thinking.”

“Thinking, huh?”

“Yeah...”

“About…?” 

“I… I wanted something,” Eddie confessed, feeling his face grow hot. 

“Yeah? I noticed you looking at something in there. What was it? Vibrating butt? One of those Japanese pocket pussies they had on sale?” Richie asked, chuckling. His eyes were all blue and sparkly and Eddie just wanted to keep staring at them. Was this even real life? Did people even look at Eddie like this in his real life? “Baby, let’s go to bed. You’re falling asleep on me.”

“No! No, I’m just looking. I’m allowed to look!”

“Okay, you’re allowed to look, but when you start drooling, you’re going on the floor.”

“No,” Eddie answered. 

“What did I just say? One word answers aren’t valid arguments. Now do you wanna tell me about what you wanted at the store or are you going to be a good boy and let me take you to get a shower?”

Eddie sighed and got his arms as tightly around Richie as he could, listening to his heartbeat again. He felt so spinny and happy and wonderful. Richie was petting his hair now and Eddie was sighing into it. Couldn’t they just sleep here?

“You asleep again?” Richie asked. Eddie heard him, but was too content to break the spell and answer. He was fully focused on the fingers combing through his hair, caressing his scalp. “Eds? Hon, you asleep?” Eddie worked hard not to laugh, pretending he was just so Richie would keep petting his hair. “You need to go to bed, Eds.” Still, Eddie played dead and listened to Richie’s heartbeat while getting a really wonderful scalp massage. Why didn’t they do this more often? “Are you really passed out right now…? Alright. Guess we’ll just sleep here then…” Richie chuckled, then moved the slightest bit so he could kiss the top of Eddie’s head, sending a burst of tingles up and down his spine. “I love you, you little lush.” 

It wasn’t like Eddie didn’t already know, but it was like his heart stopped beating the moment the word struck his brain. He’d known Richie was in love with him before he’d even left New York, but hearing it… Even if he was supposed to be asleep and Richie wasn’t really saying it _to_ him… 

It made every nerve ending in his body crackle with pleasure. It made his chest swell and his head feel swimmy—okay, maybe that part was the booze. 

_I love you,_ Richie had said.

Loved… He was loved. He was loved and Richie was _admitting_ it. Outside of his mother and Mark, he’d never really _been_ loved, and both had left him feeling so unworthy of it, so ungrateful for it, so at risk of losing it. But Richie, though… 

_I love you._ His voice echoed in Eddie’s head and he was so warm and giddy. He would’ve laughed it made him so happy, but the moment he felt the urge to do so, his body was no longer responding. Shortly thereafter, Eddie was sound asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Eddie work up the courage to say what he wants? Will Richie ever admit his feelings when Eddie isn't brain dead on booze? Stay tuned and see. Thanks for reading! More soon!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Eddie Drinks Tea the Fanfic meets Eddie is in Love with Richie and Won't Admit It the Fanfic mashup ft. mild kink negotiation. Is Eddie getting a drinking problem? Maybe.

If there was one thing Richie knew about Eddie going in, it was that his defenses were up high and self-worth was damned near shot. From the first time Richie had tried to offer him a meal, Eddie had retorted with “you don’t want to do that.” Not “I don’t want you to do that,” (which would have been acceptable) but “you don’t want to do that;” as though buying food for Eddie were some awful ordeal just because he had a strict diet that it would actually _harm him_ to break. Little traits would come out here and there that Eddie, for whatever reason, viewed as deal breakers for anyone who tried getting close to him. He couldn’t have dairy or nuts or soy or gluten. So no one should bother trying to love him, right? He couldn’t go anywhere without his inhaler or little pouch of divvied up medications, so no one should waste their time trying to be around him. He liked weird shit in the bedroom, so why bother to date him? He didn’t like _weird enough_ shit in the bedroom, so why would anyone waste their time?

Richie had hoped after they went to the sex shop together that things might start opening up more between them. He’d hoped Eddie would trust him with more. Share with him more.

Instead, Eddie got wasted that night and fucking vanished the next afternoon with some excuse about a work crisis...on a Saturday.

Monday came around and he declined to come over for dinner, still in the midst of a “work crisis.” Same story the next night, only this time it was coupled with, “Now’s your chance to eat like a normal person again,” like foregoing cheese and fucking bread had been killing Richie the past couple of months. 

“I’d rather eat a bowl of quinoa with you than this grilled cheese sandwich by myself,” Richie had texted him back, along with a photo of a sad, half-assed grilled cheese he’d made. He’d only eaten maybe half of it and his stomach was already feeling sick, like he’d forgotten how to digest Muenster and oil-based cheese slices that claimed to be made with “Real Milk!”

“So make quinoa,” had been the last text he got from Eddie that night. Even when Richie responded with three different variations of “It’s not the same without you.”

Richie didn’t understand what had happened, and could only fall back on how sad Eddie had gotten in the store. Was he self-conscious because he didn’t want to buy paddles and floggers? Because he thought it made him “unworthy” of being called a submissive? Was it because he wanted something there that was so weird he wouldn’t even tell Richie about it when he was shit-faced?

All too often when they spent time together, something would come up about Eddie that the man deemed undesirable in one way or another. His taste in suits, his pride in his job...

Richie had heard Eddie say a lot of negative things about himself, especially when they had first started talking. He mentioned quirks and traits back then that he clearly believed, for some reason or other, would surely chase Richie off—like his lactose intolerance or his allergies. (As if he really thought a homosexual man was going to scare off another homosexual man with a picky diet. Seriously. Richie dated a guy once who lectured him every time he drank anything carbonated and even _that_ wasn’t a deal breaker.) Sometimes, Eddie mentioned things that sounded like something _Mark_ had told him (typically pertaining to sex, like Eddie being “too vanilla” to be a proper sub) that he unfortunately took to heart and believed. 

Nothing quite hit the nail on the head, though, like Eddie sitting in the passenger seat of Richie’s car asking him if he was really that _worthless._ Was he really so _worthless_ that no one came to help him after that horrible display in the basement of the sex club… 

Richie didn’t understand how someone so handsome and so successful could really see himself as anything but. And he didn’t understand why Eddie fucking vanished on him when all he wanted was to show Eddie just how perfect and great he really was. 

Unless he fucked it up somehow…

Richie didn’t know, but he wanted to see Eddie again. He deserved that much, right? Or at least an explanation on how he’d fucked up and why it was so bad Eddie didn’t want to see him anymore.

Not quite sure how to put _that_ into words, Richie settled for the only thing he could think of: An unsolicited text at three in the morning on a Wednesday stating only: _I get it. You can’t hang with a guy who can only handle small sized butt plugs._ Only “butt” was replaced with the peach emoji.

Eddie didn’t answer at three, but he did answer a few hours later, a little after five, with six question marks and an exclamation point. Half an hour later and he added “Excuse Me!?” to the mix.

Richie saw this when he woke up around ten-thirty and replied with a lazy: _That’s my story and I’m sticking to it._

Eddie didn’t text him again that day, but when he came back from the studio that evening, Eddie was sitting on his couch in sweatpants looking pissed off.

“Oh, hey. I didn’t expect you to be here,” Richie said, not sure if he was glad his plan worked better than expected or just...annoyed that Eddie was here and all cozy in sweats like he hadn’t been ignoring him for days.

“Well, don’t give me a key if you don’t want me to show up.”

“Didn’t say you weren’t welcome. Just said I was surprised.” Richie made his way over to the fridge (which was stocked up and divided up into Eddie-Safe and Not Eddie-Safe again) and got himself a can of Coke which he cracked open while standing behind the island counter—almost as if using it as a barricade between himself and Eddie. 

“I can go if it’s an issue. I just thought I’d come over. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Understatement of the year. He hadn’t so much as _talked_ to Richie in a while beyond the odd text here and there, and only if Richie initiated.

“Work must be pretty crazy, huh?” Richie asked, turning away toward the counter and oven. It wasn’t on. No dinner being made… No food on the counter. 

“Yeah,” Eddie answered, a condescending tone to his voice.

“Did you eat already? I think I’m going to order delivery from somewhere. I’m fucking tired.”

“I was going to ask you if you wanted me to make something. I just got here, like, half an hour ago. I didn’t want to text you when I know you’re driving. I fucking know you don’t voice-to-text like you say you do. You’d fuckin’ crash the car asking me to make fucking eggs or some shit.”

“I’m fine with delivery,” Richie said, before turning to look at Eddie again. Eddie who seemed to have sunken in on himself a little once his offer was rejected. Did he really think he could ignore Richie that long with no consequences? “What sounds good? Wings or something?”

“I can make something. It’ll be faster. You’ve got chicken and potatoes and I did a little grocery shopping. I got us some salmon.”

“Yeah, I saw you did some shopping,” Richie answered. 

“I got the stuff to...to make the smoothie you like.” Eddie was starting to look meeker by the second. So he _did_ know what he did wrong, and he could tell Richie wasn’t exactly happy with him either. 

“That’s cool. You’re sticking around for the night then?”

“If… If that’s okay. I mean, I can go—”

“I didn’t say I wanted you to go. Just didn’t know if you were sleeping over since you haven’t talked to me in like, a week.”

“It was only a few days,” Eddie snapped, though he still looked anxious. 

“Well, it sucked.” Richie took another drink from his can of Coke while Eddie looked down at his lap, still sitting all hunched over on the couch. 

“Look, I…” Eddie scrunched up his face and pinched the bridge of his nose like he had a migraine. “I’m not good at—at sorting through my shit with someone else around. I just bring everyone down and get… It’s bad, okay? I know I should’ve said something, just… I don’t know! What am I even fucking supposed to say!?”

“Uh… ‘Hey, Richie, I need space for a couple days to sort out my shit. See you Thursday’? That would’ve been nice.”

“You would’ve just thought I wanted to break up, asshole! Then I’d come over and find all my shit in a box.”

“Really? You think I’m some high school kid? You think I’m going to go, ‘Oh, hey, this guy I’ve been seeing over six months wants some space. Better burn his fucking shit’?”

“I don’t know! I’m not sure if it’s occurred to you, but I don’t _date_ that much, asshole. I don’t _do this!”_ He said, gesturing between the two of them. 

“Well, if you want a tip from a pro, saying ‘hey, fucker, I need space’ is a lot nicer than giving me the cold shoulder. Whatever the fuck I did, I can honestly say I’ve paid for it. Care to tell me what it was?”

“What? It’s not about you!” Eddie looked shocked that Richie would even think such a thing, which only served to make Richie roll his eyes. “What!?”

“It’s not about me? You won’t answer my calls. You quit coming over, and it’s _not about me?”_

“No! It’s… It’s complicated! It’s… Can we talk? Seriously? Can we just talk?”

“Well, that depends. Are you gonna disappear for a _month_ after this time?”

Eddie looked away from him, his face scrunching up at the last second before it was turned as if he were about to cry. Richie took a deep breath and another sip from his can of soda. 

“We can talk, Eds. Just… Just let me get something to eat first. I’m like a fuckin’ Snickers commercial. I’m not me when I’m hungry. What sounds good?”

It took Eddie a couple of seconds to look at him again, his eyes a little red and bleary. Seeing him on the verge of tears didn’t make Richie feel any better and started to regret getting snippy with him, even if it was deserved. 

“I wouldn’t mind wings from that pizza place you like. Their hot sauce was really good...” He wiped his nose on the pad of his thumb and sniffed a bit, trying to regain his composure. 

As Richie ordered their food, Eddie started to make himself a cup of tea—keeping his hunched over posture with his shoulders risen as if in fear of an attack. Richie had to fight the urge to take over the task for him. He was upset and hurt, and he felt at war with himself as he debated whether it was best to let Eddie feel that or if he should give in to the impulse to act like nothing was wrong and dote on him like he was used to doing.

“I, uh… I got a...a therapist. For out here, you know?” Eddie said, staring at the slowly bubbling electric kettle. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah… I had video chats with my other one, but...being so far apart, I just don’t think it’s sustainable. Plus, why am I paying the same amount if I’m not even going to the building? I know it’s the same service, but I feel like it’s a rip off. I don’t know… I’m probably over thinking it.”

“I don’t think so. It makes sense to me. Doc could be jerking one out under his desk the whole time and you’d never fuckin’ know.”

“My therapist in New York is a woman,” Eddie said, as if that really mattered.

“My statement still stands. She could be riding one of those Dragon dongs from the sex shop under there and you’d never know.”

“Gross. That’s gross.” Eddie’s nose crinkled up in distaste, making a swell of affection grow in Richie’s chest despite his pain and frustration. 

“It _is_ gross! That’s why it’s a rip off.”

Eddie had brought up seeing a therapist maybe once before—shortly after he’d been stabbed—and maybe once or twice after, but was acting as though this was a new topic of discussion as he elaborated on it more. Even as he was pouring the hot water into his mug, he was glancing at Richie to check his reaction. Richie, though listening, was staring at the status of his wing order, watching it click over from “Received” to “Being Made.”

“I’ve been seeing someone since...maybe college? Freshman year...”

“Really? What’s his name?” Richie asked, just to hear Eddie scoff at him. 

“Not like that…”

“I’m just fucking with you. Someone needs to go back to freshman year and take Sense of Humor 101.”

“My sense of humor is fine.” He set the kettle down and then picked up his mug, cradling it to his chest and breathing in the steam. “But, yeah, I’ve been… I’ve basically been in therapy my entire adult life.”

“I saw someone a few years back, but we didn’t click so I kind of stopped showing up,” Richie responded. He could tell by the way Eddie brought it up that he was trying to get a reaction out of him. It was the same tone he had at the beginning when he’d mention another allergy or aversion he had. I don’t trust eggs in most restaurants, still wanna date me? I’ve been in therapy since I was nineteen, you sure you wanna make this work? “Must’ve had a pretty shit childhood to need a therapist that early though, huh?” 

Eddie didn’t talk about his childhood except to say his father had died of cancer when he’d been young. He kept especially tight-lipped about it and it left Richie’s imagination to run wild. Abuse, he suspected. A lot of submissives came from perfectly fine and proper homes, and a fair few of them did not… And if Eddie could mistake Mark beating him up and mistreating him as a common, acceptable thing, it was Richie’s only logical assumption that he’d been abused long before he ever even met Mark. 

“It... It wasn’t bad. I-I had a lot of things other kids didn’t. A lot of… A lot of things.” 

He couldn’t name a single one, and that told Richie enough.

“What, like a roof and a bed and shit?” Richie asked. 

“Well, yeah, but a nice bike, too. And I _never_ went hungry. Not one single time. Not even if I pissed my mom off. She could be giving me the cold shoulder for a week and I’d still have all the food I could eat.”

“Wait, hold up… How often did your mom give you the silent treatment?” Richie asked, looking away from his app to stare at Eddie who looked like a deer in headlights—like he didn’t expect Richie to get hung up on that detail. Like he didn’t even realize that… You know what, him being in therapy his entire adult life was starting to make sense.

“Just… I was a bad kid,” Eddie said, grinning nervously before taking a small sip of his steaming hot tea.

“No, _I_ was a bad kid. I stole coins from dad’s collection to play at the arcade and tracked mud all over my mom’s mopped floors. I tried stealing someone’s dog once—I snuck out to sleep with chicks and smoke cigarettes and not a single time did I get the _silent treatment_ for a _week._ What the fuck did you do? Set the carpet on fire?”

“Well, I… I exaggerated. It was never a _whole week._ Just a couple days or...or a few. Here and there.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“What? How is that fucked up? I would… I would sneak out! I snuck out a lot. And she would be worried. She lost my dad. She didn’t want to lose me, too. I was all she had.”

“It doesn’t matter! You don’t give kids the silent treatment. It fucks ‘em up.”

“I suppose she was supposed to beat me then? Lock me in my room? Starve me?” He sounded angry and defensive, and if a therapist in all these years hadn’t clued him in to the fact that he had mommy issues, he needed a fucking refund. 

“I don’t know, Eds. It sounds like you like two of those things, so maybe she didn’t have many options. Guess I can’t judge.” Richie smirked at him, just to see Eddie’s face go red. He was still mad, but now he was flustered. Richie had missed that since they’d been apart. He missed Eddie’s quick temper and how gobsmacked he got whenever Richie backed him into a corner. 

“I… I didn’t do that stuff back then!” Eddie shouted.

“I’m just teasing you. Jeez. Take a chill pill.”

Eddie pouted over that and drank more his tea before mumbling, “She went almost a month without speaking to me when I was twelve. I slept over at a friend’s house when she didn’t want me to. She said I could go if I really wanted to… Then she just didn’t talk to me for a month.”

“That’s really fucked up, Eds. What was her reasoning? What did—What did she even fucking say to you after that? You were just a kid...”

Eddie looked down at his feet and then took a deep breath, his shoulders rising high only to drop back down as if in defeat. 

“Eddie, what did she say to you?” Richie asked, feeling like this had to be a segue into something else—something bigger. Eddie _had_ come here saying he finally wanted to talk…

“That I… She said that she—she… She said she knew I didn’t actually love her or care about her and...and it wasn’t fair because she...she loved me so much and I...I took it for granted and… Just all kinds of things. She said all kinds of things like that if I didn’t do what she wanted.” There was a war going on behind Eddie’s dark brown eyes. Parts of him were still angry with her for how she’d made him feel, and other parts were still guilty and remorseful—and then even more fragments and pieces of himself were angry that he felt that way. “She was like that my whole life. You know, I… I lived with her until she died.” He glanced at Richie again, trying to see if he would laugh, maybe, or scoff at him. Richie, however, kept his face blank—if not still twisted into a grimace of pain for what Eddie had just described being put through at twelve years old. “I tried leaving a couple times but she always pulled me back. My apartment? The one you’ve been to… That’s...that’s my first place on my own.”

“Dude, that fucking sucks,” Richie said, not sure how else to react. Eddie was his age. Eddie was pushing _forty._ How the fuck had he never had his own place before that? How were her hooks embedded in him that deeply?

“Yeah… So, like, I dated people…but not a whole lot. Never men when my mom was still alive. God, I can’t imagine what she’d say. She would’ve had me fucking committed if she knew I liked men. I introduced her to girls I was seeing and she’d call them all sorts of awful things. Sometimes to their face, and...of course, the older I got the less people were into a guy that lives at home with his mom. And then after she died, less people were interested in a guy who had never had a boyfriend and...no matter how good of a job I had, it still felt like I was the laughingstock of the whole New York gay scene.”

“And then you met...Mark,” Richie said. Mark who bulldozed over any and all barriers Eddie had put up around himself. Mark who both fed on Eddie’s insecurity and punished him for it. Silent treatment. A scene went bad? Silent treatment. Eddie said no to something? Silent treatment. Sub drop? Silent treatment.

As they picked at their hot wings together, seated on the couch, Eddie opened up more and more. Things Mark said. Things Mark did… 

“I’m not good at setting boundaries or being too open about things. It never ends well for me, so...so I pull back. I know it’s not the right thing to do, but… I’d rather I pull away and pay for it later than have it come all unexpected.”

“That’s fair but, Eddie, I can’t keep my mouth shut longer than forty seconds. You don’t have to worry about the silent treatment from me. Or any of that shit, I mean… It sounds like your mom had some stuff going on upstairs after your dad died. Like, the woman had serious issues, dude. And Mark? He was even worse. He was just a fuckin’ predator. I’m not like those people. I’d rather you tell me you want something or you _don’t_ want something. I want to know these things so I don’t fuck this up. Because I really fucking like you—allergies, asthma, mommy issues, all of it.”

Eddie looked at him then, eyes all big and soft and sad...like he didn’t believe him but really, really wanted to. 

“I’m… I’m trying to tell you that I love you, you weird...sheltered person.” Richie licked him lips, heart beating just a bit faster in his chest. He’d said it before when he was sure Eddie couldn’t hear—like when he was sleeping or blacked out drunk—but not like this. Not sober. Not with Eddie sober. 

Eddie immediately turned away and gulped as if Richie had just told him they needed to brave the downtown bus station together at two a.m. Not a good fucking sign.

“I know,” Eddie said, still looking anywhere but at Richie. He set his empty plate down on the coffee table and took a long time wiping his fingers on a paper napkin—digging the sauce out from under his nails while staring at the wall.

“So then you know you don’t need to worry about me flipping out if you don’t want something or you _do_ want something. Like whatever the fuck you wanted at the sex store that you couldn’t bring yourself to tell me. Which, by the way, if it was one of those weird, half-a-person sex toys, you’re on your own. I’m not paying eight hundred bucks for a man’s pelvis and dong, dude. And I guarantee, mine’s bigger than anything they make for those. At least in beige. I don’t know about the Black ones.”

“It wasn’t a sex doll!” Eddie snapped, face going red at the mention. 

“Okay then, what was it?”

Eddie mumbled something while staring at the ground and Richie could only scoff. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

“It… It was a depth trainer. One of those...those long things. You know?”

“What, like a double-sided dildo?”

“No,” Eddie snapped. “Like a _depth_ trainer. They...they’re for...for depth.”

“Okay… And you couldn’t tell me that because…?”

“They’re weird! Okay? They’re, like, longer than your fuckin’ arm.”

“So? They’re not weirder than mouth-shaped pocket pussies. Those things freak me the hell out, man; not extra-long dildos.”

Eddie stared at him with doubt, but his face softened more and more the longer their staring contest went on. Richie even refused to blink, just to see if Eddie would notice. He didn’t. He just turned away and wetted his lips.

“All that...because you wanted an extra long dildo?” Richie asked.

“It’s...it’s called a depth trainer.”

“An ‘Eddie’s Ass is Greedy,’ is what it’s called.”

That effectively got Eddie to shut up about it, his face burning a dark red as he glanced at Richie out of the corner of his eye.

“For the record, that wasn’t supposed to get you hot,” Richie tacked on, smirking as Eddie turned an even darker shade of red. “Why were you afraid to tell me?” He asked, scooting a little closer to Eddie on the couch.

“I don’t know… It...It’s weird!”

“Weirder than nipple clamps and fuzzy cuffs?” Richie asked.

“I mean...it’s—it’s like a fucking drain snake for your asshole! Yes, I’d say that’s weirder than nipple clamps!”

“Oh, come on. It’s not like a drain snake. The goal isn’t to get shit to come unclogged...is it?” He really hoped not. Enemas could be a kink and were definitely a part of prep, but Richie was really going to have to pass on literally fucking the shit out of someone. 

“Gross! No… No—No, God! That would...that would be so...” He gagged then and Richie busted out laughing before throwing an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in a little closer.

“Good to know that shit is on both of our hard limits lists,” he said, kissing Eddie’s temple. He felt the other man relax against him, sliding into place against his chest—all the tension between them fading away into null. As it should be.

“Do you have… I mean, of course you do.”

“Do I have what?” Richie asked, chuckling a little. “Other limits?” He felt Eddie shrug against him. “Yeah, I mean...shit is gross. Puke is gross. I’m not into blood or cutting.”

“I don’t like...fluids. At all,” Eddie said, shuddering.

“So no bukkake?”

“No! Gross… Ugh.” He shuddered again and Richie couldn’t help but to laugh at him. “I mean, once I know we’re both clean... _you_ can do that...on me, but… Piss? No. Blood, no. Shit, no. All of that other stuff, no.”

“Spit?” Richie asked, just to see what Eddie would do. He looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t say no. “You know, we eventually need to lay all this out. My memory is shit and I don’t want to forget you hate something and do it on accident.”

“Yeah,” Eddie answered, turning away from him again, face dark red. He liked getting spit on and Richie loved that he was too shy or too proud to admit it. For the time being, though, Richie let it go and merely pulled Eddie back against him in order to kiss the top of his head. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Eddie had known for a while that Richie was in love with him, but it still left him feeling sick and panicked any time he thought about it. Richie was boisterous and loud and immature… Eddie was professional and reserved and fucked up. Were they really that good of a match? Was Eddie really someone Richie _could_ love? Could Eddie even _be_ loved?

His heart hurt when he thought about it. He’d needed some space and some time to sort his feelings out, to get Mark’s and his mother’s voices out of his head so he could understand how he actually felt. Richie said he loved him...out loud. On purpose. How did he _feel_ about that? Besides scared and uncertain and anxious?

Good, he guessed. He kind of felt good about it, too. Love meant they could keep moving forward in the ways that they had been. Love meant...he could do these things with Richie and get accustomed to the idea that Richie could be the last person he’d ever be doing them with. No more dating, no more sex clubs, no more coercion to include other partners (at least Eddie hoped). It could, if the love were really all it was cracked up to be, mean he had found a life partner… Someone to accept him. All of him. Someone who cared, actually _cared._

He didn’t know how to put all of that into words with Richie there staring at him, upset at him. How did you tell someone, ‘Hey, when I was drunk, you said you loved me and I can’t handle that. Sorry.’? How did you explain that and not lose everything? Richie made it all sound so easy…

Eddie’s only experience with needing space was getting put down for it or having it thrust upon him. He needed a day to sort out his feelings? Well, Mark was about to start a week-long session with some new “wannabe submissive.” That was what he called people who came to him professionally. Wannabes… Most of them didn’t make it past the first few days.

Maybe that should’ve been a sign. 

The longer they were apart, the more thinking Eddie did—and therefore the more space he wanted when he realized something he hadn’t before. Like the fact that Mark was probably having sex with those other people, even though he promised his “Professional Dom” lifestyle didn’t require that. Couples came to him, he said. Most of the time… But would any respectable Dom (wannabe or otherwise) let Mark do the things to their submissive that Mark did to Eddie? Or was he smart enough to know not to do that to other people? Was Eddie just his favorite to push around?

Their trip to the store and all their purchases just had Eddie spiraling deeper and deeper. He needed that time to re-acclimate to that lifestyle. He and Richie could be rough and playful in bed, but it could hardly be called having scenes. Toys and things...that was all leading up to some kind of scene. It didn’t have to be, but Eddie really felt that it was. And maybe wasn’t so sure he didn’t want it to. Deep down, he kind of missed getting it rough. He kind of missed being bound and helpless. He kind of missed the names Mark would call him, the way his hands felt leaving dark bruises on every inch of skin he could…

Richie left lots of secret marks, little fingerprints on his hips and thighs or bite marks on his shoulders and collar bone, but it wasn’t the same… It was nice, but it wasn’t _everything_ Eddie wanted. And they were safe, too, to admit to each other what they really wanted, right? 

It felt like a big risk, but Eddie managed to talk himself into believing that that was just leftovers from Mark’s influence over him. Talking about what he liked and wanted wasn’t going to mess things up. And if it did, then Eddie was better off alone. 

That was what he told himself over and over as he waited on Richie’s couch for him. If their talk tonight was going to mess things up, Eddie would be just find and dandy on his own—by himself. Alone. 

He took deep breath off his inhaler and tried to get himself to accept that that was as safe an idea as any. Alone. He could be alone and he’d be just fine. If he tried to have this conversation and Richie...lost his cool, then he’d just pack up and leave. Or leave and tell Richie to forward his belongings to the hotel where he was staying.

“Hey, spaghetti man. I stopped to get gas on the way home. Sorry it took for-fuckin’-ever,” Richie said, coming in the door with his usual, loud vigor. He was always happier and louder if Eddie was here before him. 

“That’s fine. I have some chicken in the oven.”

“I can smell it! I’m so fuckin’ hungry. You have no idea.” He was slipping off his shoes and then coming over to the couch where he greeted Eddie with a kiss before laying down across his lap and letting out a loud, exaggerated groan/sigh. “Feel like I’m gonna fuckin’ pass out.”

“What? Like you’re sick?” Eddie asked, hand pausing where it had been raised to stroke Richie’s hair. 

“No, like I’ve been starving to death all day.”

“I know your building has a cafeteria...”

“Yeah, but I was _busy._ And I’m so hungry...” Richie continued to whine about it while burying his face in Eddie’s thighs, his glasses digging in so hard Eddie was surprised they didn’t snap.

“Well, it’s still going to be a while. I haven’t even gotten the rice started.”

Richie whined at that, too, but rolled over so his glasses were no longer jabbing Eddie in the leg.

“It’s a good thing you’re a hotshot professional, because you’d make a really shitty housewife.”

“Gee, thanks. Maybe if you kept consistent hours, I could have dinner ready and waiting,” Eddie argued, rolling his eyes. Richie continued to fake-pout while Eddie stroked his hair, working out some of the tangles in his black curls as gently as he could. 

“What did you have for lunch today? You didn’t pack...”

“Salad and fruit. There was a luncheon. They’re more considerate about my diet here than at the New York office. It was kind of nice.”

“Do they cover the salad bowl in dressing before you get there or what? Every luncheon I’ve ever been to has a gross ass bowl of leaves in the middle of the table.”

Eddie scoffed at that. “It wasn’t just a garden salad. There were different kinds and you could pick your own things to add. It was good. It was _nice.”_

“Well, good. I’m glad they didn’t poison you.” He was sulking because he was hungry and kept it up until he’d cleaned his plate of chicken and rice and helped himself to a second serving which he ate much more slowly. After they were both finished eating, Eddie offered to pour them each some wine which got a mischievous smirk to cross Richie’s lips. “Eddie wants something,” he said in an annoying sing-song voice as he made himself comfortable on the couch. 

“What do you mean? I just wanted some wine,” Eddie answered, face heating up as he pulled opened the drawer where he’d hidden his green folder and the Excel spreadsheet within it. 

“Yeah, but you only drink when you want something,” Richie taunted.

 _“Yeah,_ when I want to drink,” Eddie retorted, fingers squeezing tightly around the folder as he closed the drawer and made his way over to the couch.

“Yeah? Then what’s this?” Richie asked, tugging at the corner of the folder Eddie had. 

“Nothing,” Eddie answered, face positively burning as he forced himself to sit and try again—without letting his nerves get to him this time. “Something...”

“Something? You bringing work here now? I thought you only liked to work at the hotel because I’m too ‘distracting.’” Complete with infuriating air quotes.

Eddie rolled his eyes and shoved the folder into Richie’s hands before taking a long drink of his dry, red wine.

“Let’s see what we have here,” Richie said, adjusting his glasses and doing a whole bit as he righted the folder, ran his fingers over it as if it were some ancient, rare text dug up from the ruins of an abandoned city. Then, when he finally opened, his eyes went wide and his cheeks, too, started warming up. “Oh… Oh, okay.”

“I thought… I thought it might make more sense this way. Writing them down… And I thought maybe you could fill out the blank ones in there? With what you...like.” Eddie felt his heart rate pick up, anxiety chewing away at his stomach. What if a spreadsheet was a stupid idea? What if Richie just laughed at him?

What if all his hard limits were things Richie really liked and would want from him? Well, not all, but some… Some _had_ to be. Was it fair to tell Richie tough luck? And what about the soft limits? The punishments? Was it too much, too soon? 

Eddie ended up taking out his inhaler from his pocket and choking on the medicine he tried to take in.

“Easy, Eds! You alright?” Richie asked, setting the folder aside so he could put an arm around Eddie’s jerking shoulders. He was coughing hard and his eyes were watering, making it almost impossible to speak as Richie clapped him on the back. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie wheezed, trying his inhaler again and breathing a little more easily this time. “I’m all good.”

“Scared me there for a second,” Richie said, no joke—no quip. Then he picked up the folder like nothing had happened and went back to reading the pages inside, his right hand still on Eddie’s shoulder. As his eyes traced the columns, his thumb traced small circles on Eddie’s shoulder—soothing him just enough to keep him from awkwardly blurting out explanations or exceptions to the things he had listed. Later, he reminded himself. They could get into more specifics later. Right now, Richie just needed to look over the paper and tell him if he thought they were actually going to be compatible or not.

Most likely it was going to be not, but Eddie was trying hard to be optimistic. 

“I think I know the answer to this, Eds, but why is there a line down the middle in your hard limits? Is it, like, ‘no’ and ‘I’ll kill you, no’?”

“It’s… It’s—Well, it’s… Uh, more so… It’s more like—like no, not ever and no, maybe later?” Eddie answered, heart starting to hurt it was pounding so hard. His hard limits had some of the things they’d already discussed like bodily fluids and knife-play, and then on the other side of the column it sported floggers and whips and all the things Mark had done to him that night in the dungeon. 

“That makes sense. I don’t do whips so we can cross that one off permanently. I don’t do those… Makes me have flashbacks to fifth grade history class and people whipping slaves on the plantation. Do you have a pen?” 

Eddie did not have a pen, so Richie took it upon himself to go get one and return to the couch. He took a long drink of wine, then laid Eddie’s sheet of paper on the coffee table in front of him and placed his blank sheet beside it. He asked if Eddie cared if he wrote on the paper, which Eddie didn’t, and then set to work. 

“Anything we both don’t like, I’m just gonna cross off, okay? So I don’t have to write it twice.”

Eddie nodded. “Is there...are there things I like and you don’t?” It felt like his chest was being crushed as he waited for Richie to answer.

“Some things. I’ll circle ‘em and we can talk about it. How’s that?”

Again, Eddie nodded, and then sipped more wine as he watched Richie work. He crossed off a lot of the things Eddie had in his hard limits, and a few in his “no maybe later” column like the whip. It made Eddie feel a little bit better as Richie started working on his own list of hard limits (only one column for himself since he wasn’t a fucking wreck). 

He added things Eddie hadn’t thought to mention and felt stupid for having forgotten them, like electricity/shock, suspension (with the helpful “I’d drop you or hang you and kill you somehow” written under it as if Eddie weren’t at his side anxiously watching him write), and public(ish)/photo/video. There were other things, too, like drawing blood with “Blood = Done” written by it. 

Then when it came time for the soft limits, Richie returned his attention to Eddie’s spreadsheet and started circling things… Lots of things. Instead of feeling let down, Eddie found himself feeling self-conscious and sick to his stomach. Was he too extreme for Richie? Was he a freak? Eddie didn’t know if he wanted to cry or just cut his losses and get up to leave. He circled so many of the things in Eddie’s soft limits and “Green Light” columns… 

Eddie swallowed what was left of the wine in his glass and then got up to refill it, staying by the counter longer than necessary just to try to clear his head before going back over to his seat and talking about it. He tried not to stare this time as Richie filled in his columns, pausing to read it over himself and then going back and adding more—and scratching things out and moving them over to the other column. 

“Do you want to talk about some of these?” Richie asked, offering a little smile that was so warm and inviting that it made Eddie want to start crying. He felt as if the stakes here were so high and yet Richie was as laid back as if they were putting together a meal prep calendar…

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” Eddie said, taking one last gulp of wine before scooting closer and leaning over the pages on the coffee table. 

“So, I circled some things—”

“All the things,” Eddie blurted out.

Richie only laughed and shook his hair out of his eyes. 

“Some things. Uh, I wanted to start with this one? Face slapping. I...Yeah, that feels abusive to me. I don’t know. I could try it, but… I’ve never hit someone in the face.”

“Well, it’s not like _punching_ me. It doesn’t even have to be hard—I mean, it _shouldn’t_ be. I can’t go to work with a busted lip or anything.”

“That makes me feel better, but… Uh, can I get a little more context? Like… Like you’re a bratty sub talking back to me and I slap your mouth or...do you just want that in the middle of us doing the do?” He was cringing over it, looking worried—not repulsed or disgusted. 

“Well, it’s a scene. So…in the context of the scene. Maybe I talk back, maybe I don’t listen. It’s not like we’re just kissing and then you hit me out of nowhere.”

“Okay,” Richie said, nodding a little more confidently. “Okay, I could do that, then.” 

“Mark and I… We had an agreement, kind of...he quit listening to it, but it was like a ground rule. If I wasn’t wearing my collar, he didn’t hit. Because I’m mouthy all the time, so...it’s hard to tell when it’s for the scene or not.” Eddie realized he was caressing his own cheek, rubbing away the sting of a slap that had happened months ago.

“Do you want that? Another collar?”

“Not right now,” Eddie answered, not looking at him, still stroking his cheek.

“Okay. Well, maybe we don’t hit faces unless I know what’s going on.” He chuckled and moved down the list to the next thing he had circled. “Humiliation… How? There’s a lot of ways and I need...more than that. I need more direction than that.” So they talked about it, what Eddie liked to be called, what maybe wasn’t okay. How it could be done, what Richie was comfortable doing and saying.

They were all like that, Eddie realized as he cracked open a second bottle of wine. All the things he circled were just things he wanted to talk about more, not things he didn’t like or want—not things that made Eddie weird or perverse. 

Slowly, Eddie downed another glass of wine while Richie was still on his second and had nestled himself into Richie’s side while the other man made a new sheet on the back of his with things they agreed were the limits for the two of them. Eddie felt calmer, safer, than he had since he’d started drafting the list. 

“Okay, so for soft limits, are we safe to put spanking in the green but different implements in soft and hard limits?” Richie asked, tapping Eddie shoulder when he hesitated to give an actual answer.

“Hm? Mm, yes! Yes, please...” 

That got Richie to laugh as he started writing on the page. “Yes, please, huh? Do I even need to spank you when you’ve got such good manners?” 

Eddie groaned and shimmied a little further into the crevice he’d made for himself under Richie’s arm. His head was spinning whenever he closed his eyes, but Eddie kind of liked it… He felt boneless, carefree. 

“Richie?” 

“Hm? I’m almost done.” He kissed Eddie on top of his head and Eddie sank into his side even more. “Falling asleep?”

“No,” Eddie answered. He wasn’t, but it did feel a lot better having his eyes closed. 

“Good, because reading all this has me harder than a fuckin’ rock.” 

Eddie lifted his head at that, one uncoordinated hand impulsively going to reach between Richie’s legs. He was fully prepared to call him on his bluff, only to end up with his palm cupping the very firm bulge in the front of Richie’s jeans.

“Jesus! Gentle! Gentle…” He moved Eddie’s hand out of the way to rub at himself, wincing. “I’m putting dick slapping on the hard limits—at least on mine. You can have your CBT but leave my Johnson out of it.”

Eddie plopped back down and tried to make sense of what he’d heard. He guessed he did kind of swing his hand a bit more than he’d meant to… Oops. While Richie finished up with the chart, Eddie hugged his left arm and fought off the spins. Had he really only had three glasses? 

“Yeah, three of the red,” Richie said, making Eddie’s eyes snap open.

“What?”

 _“What!?”_ Richie echoed. “Angel, you talk to yourself all the time. Do you realize that?”

“No, I don’t.”

“You totally do.”

“No...” 

“Well, then I read minds,” Richie said, finally setting his pen down and leaning back against the cushions. “You’ve had five drinks. You’re also cut off.” 

“What!?” Eddie sat up all the way, feeling his head immediately start to spin worse. Whoa… Maybe he did get more than he remembered..

 _“What!?_ Yeah, Eddie. You’re cut off before you start puking. Hard limit, remember? It’s right here?” He leaned forward again to grab the paper and tapped it. 

Eddie rolled his eyes and squirmed his way into Richie’s lap, kissing him on the mouth until he tossed the paper aside and kissed back. Eddie got his fingers tangled in Richie’s long hair and moaned as Richie did the same to him, thick fingers caressing his scalp as Eddie melted against him. Slowly, he found himself being laid out on his back across the couch with Richie over top of him, kissing him deeply and still massaging the sides of his scalp and then down his neck. Eddie was happy just to hold him and kiss back, limbs wrapped tightly around Richie’s shoulders and his hips. 

He wasn’t sure when it happened or how, but when he opened his eyes, they were in Richie’s bed kissing even still. He could feel Richie rocking against him, sending little waves of pleasure tingling up Eddie’s spine. He could feel Richie’s heartbeat as he nuzzled his neck and kissed his throat. He felt so close and so warm. 

He felt a lot of things that he couldn’t linger on because, before he even realized it was happening, his mind had let go and he was fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I swear I'm still working on this, I just got distracted. Planning scenes is harder for me than it is for Eddie and Richie, mkay?? Thank you for reading and being so patient!)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this chapter four times. I apologize. It needed to be perfect and true and good. It was previously more scattered than the marbles in my brain.

Eddie had flown back to New York the previous morning, a day early for the court date. He had plans to visit his New York office and meet up with Ben and Beverly for dinner, then the following afternoon he’d go and make his statement and get on a flight and head back to Los Angeles. Back home to Richie.

It felt weird having him gone, even if Eddie spent more and more nights at the hotel leading up to his trip. He was stressed and preferred to handle it on his own, too ashamed or embarrassed or afraid to lean on Richie for support. He wished he could do more to get Eddie to open up around him, but he knew it would just take time. 

They had time.

Eddie had proven he wasn’t in a rush and Richie could be patient. Eddie was such a closed, private person. It wasn’t like he was about to go to some bar in New York and meet some other guy. And, if he did, well… Eddie was coming back to Los Angeles and Richie would be there waiting to welcome him back while that poor schmuck was trapped in the Big Apple.

And Richie would be there in LA waiting for Eddie with a nice surprise for him.

He’d gone back to the sex store a few days after their long discussion of limits and bought the depth trainer that Eddie had been eyeing. It was an alarming length and the idea of the whole thing disappearing inside of Eddie’s tiny, angry body left him in a state of wide-eyed shock for most of his drive home with the thing in his passenger seat—almost too big for the big black bag it’d been put in. He was _definitely_ going to need to watch some videos before using this thing just to be _positive_ he didn’t rip Eddie a new asshole with it. He kept it hidden under his bed, a place Eddie wasn’t going to look, just to serve as a surprise when he got home—even if they weren’t quite in the place to use it yet. 

Richie just wanted Eddie to know that he was down for whatever. If Eddie wanted to get wild with a depth trainer the length of his arm, Richie’d give it a shot. He’d do anything for Eddie to stop being self-conscious around him. Richie was literally the last person on the planet with room to judge. At least Eddie was open about his sexuality, even if it took his mother’s death to get to that point. Eddie even had the excuse of a crazy mom. Richie had just kept himself in the closet for entirely too long for no good reason besides...fear. Fear of everything… Of everyone. 

Richie had been out a couple more years than Eddie and he still wasn’t quite at the I’m Here and I’m Queer stage yet. And he certainly wasn’t confident enough in his sexuality to do demos at sex clubs. Eddie was a nervous wreck but he had goddamned balls of steel and didn’t even know it. 

Or maybe he did. There were a lot of kinky little CBT things on his green light list—some of which even made Richie squeamish. He’d try ‘em. For Eddie, he’d try it, but if getting a catheter in the ER was anything to go by, urethral sounding hurt like a fucking bitch and he didn’t see how that could get Eddie going. 

The thought of it though… The more he thought of it, the more he liked it. Eddie, handcuffed. Himself, in control of the implements… He bet the sounds Eddie made would be delicious. He was already so perfect and noisy in bed. He’d heard the noises he made at the club, but if they were uttered in actual pleasure… Because of _Richie._ God, it’d be so tasty. 

Richie kind of missed the thrill of Eddie’s nails scratching his shoulder blades in the throes of ecstasy, but it was almost a worthy trade off for the utterly desperate, pornographic sounds Eddie let out when he tried to get his hands free. And that fucker _really_ tried. Thank God for fuzzy cuffs, otherwise his wrists would probably be black with bruises if not bloody. 

Aside from the cuffs, they really hadn’t delved into anything more than that. Eddie still asked permission to come like a good boy, each and every time, and Richie had called him a greedy whore and a slut a few times, but that was about the extent of their adventures. Eddie seemed satisfied and Richie didn’t really want to be the one to propose they start trying more things. He could. He was sure he could offer or ask, but he wanted Eddie to make that call. He wanted Eddie to realize he had that control and to seize it.

But he’d be patient. For now, Richie was just enjoying having a partner again. He had someone to go to movies with, someone to cook with, someone to hold at night when he was lonely and cold.

Which was why having him all the way on the other side of the country fucking sucked.

At least he stayed in touch. He texted and made little phone calls when he had the chance—always interrupting something when Richie was in the writing room, but he tried not to let on. He knew Eddie needed him. He needed to feel secure. He needed a distraction from what he had to say in court… Richie couldn’t even imagine how it must feel to have to describe that horrible ordeal in court. Eddie didn’t even like to look at his reflection in the mirror because of the scars it left on his body. To retell it all in court…

Poor Eddie…

Richie kept that in mind when it came time for Eddie to be back in LA. He hadn’t heard from him—not even to fanatically go over his flight plans. As absurd as it was, Richie found himself checking news sites to make sure there wasn’t a plane crash. He kept his texts to a minimum in case Eddie just needed space like that last time, but then as he was pouring some break room coffee into a paper cup, his cell phone started to ring and he almost burnt the shit out of his hand in his mad dash to answer it. 

“Hello? Eds?”

It sent a jolt of adrenaline through his system when the first thing he heard was Eddie taking in a low, shuddering breath.

“Eddie? Wh-What is it?”

“What is it?” Eddie asked, voice shaking and then cracking with a gag. “What it _is,_ is the filter on your _fucking_ vacuum.”

“My… My what?” Richie asked, leaning back against the counter and scrubbing at his forehead. 

“The filter on your fucking vacuum, Richie! It’s fucking—fucking _rotten!”_

“Why—Why are you touching it? Why are you using my vacuum?”

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe I just got home. Maybe I wanted to decompress—clean up some of this _filth!_ But, no… No, the filter was clogged and—and I opened it, a-and it’s… It’s so—” Eddie gagged and then took another choked, shuddering breath. “It’s so fucking gross. Have you _ever_ cleaned this thing!?”

“Uh...” Richie tried to wrack his brain for a real answer, his mind so damned scattered from the call—from Eddie’s tone—that he hardly remembered what his vacuum cleaner looked like. “No… Probably not.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Eddie wheezed loudly in Richie’s ear a few times, then took a puff from his inhaler and started to calm down. “This filter is so...oh, God. Th-The more I touch it, the more dirt comes off… So much dirt a-and dead skin and hair! Richie, God!”

“Well, quit touchin’ it, Eds. I’ll clean it when I get home. Why don’t you make yourself some tea or something and sit down? Watch the Travel channel or something.”

“No… No, no. I need to clean. I need to vacuum, but this… It’ll take all day for the filter to dry. I gotta wash it...”

“Okay, well… I’m sorry the filter is dirty and I will...make it up to you when I get home. Alright?”

“I don’t know how… I don’t know how, Richie. This is...it’s so gross. God, how...how do you live like this?”

“What can I say, Eds? I’m a filthy fuckin’ animal. Are you gonna let me make it up to you when I get home? I’ll go out and buy you a new vacuum if you want. Do you want me to stop at Target and buy a new vacuum?”

“No… No, I’m… I’m going to clean the filter.” He said it with such determination that Richie couldn’t help but chuckle. Poor Eddie. Richie could just see it now, him standing there with the dirty filter, jaw set and brown eyes big and wide. Poor Eddie.

“Okay… Well, I’m glad you got back into town okay. I have to say I was a little worried your plane crashed or something.”

“Oh. No. Sorry, yeah… I got back a little while ago. I just… Since court I haven’t—”

“No, no. I get it, Eds. No worries.”

“Okay...” Eddie took in a deep breath and Richie found himself counting the seconds before he let it out in a deep, heavy sigh. He was having an anxiety attack and there was nothing Richie could do for him.

“Why don’t you make some tea before you get to work on that filter? I got you a, uh, sweet and spicy one? Did you see it in the cupboard?”

“No. No, I didn’t. Hang on.” Eddie could be heard rustling through the cabinet where Richie kept the tea, the new one right in front. “Here it is. Hang on. This sounds good. Okay… Yeah. Yeah, I’ll make some before...” A heavy sigh. “What time do you think you’ll be home tonight?”

“Oh, um… Probably after six or so. Do you want me to pick something up on the way? Gas mask for the next time you have to dust or anything?”

“No. I just… I’m going to make dinner. I… I needed to know when to start.”

“You don’t have to do that. You just got home—”

“Do you care if I have some of this wine?” It almost sounded panicked and the tone didn’t help Richie’s feeling of unease. 

“Sure. Yeah, go ahead. Just...drink your tea first, okay?”

“Oh—I didn’t mean right now. I meant...with dinner.”

Something was wrong, something more than the filter on the vacuum, but Richie didn’t dare ask. There was nothing he could do from so far away and his coffee break was bound to draw attention if he didn’t hurry back. 

“Yeah. A little wining and dining sounds nice, Eds. Wish I could be the one hosting you since, you know...you just got home. Seems a little backwards having you do all the work.”

“I don’t mind it. It...keeps me busy.” Distracted was more like it. 

“Okay. Well, I’ll see you a little after six for dinner.”

“Yeah. See you then.” They said their goodbyes and Richie was left on pins and needles, wanting to get home as soon as he could to make sure Eddie didn’t down the bottle of wine and get electrocuted putting the vacuum back together or something. 

He was on edge the whole drive home, half expecting to come home to something tragic—something awful. Instead, he came in to his apartment smelling of food and the Travel channel playing a special on the exotic sights of Iceland. He also came in to find Eddie asleep, laying across his couch with an empty cup with a teabag drying out in its base and a little cluster of tissues beside it on the coffee table. His cell phone was on the cushion beside his hand on the couch, hopefully with an alarm set for the oven because if Richie had been late, falling asleep like this was a good way to burn the whole building down.

Richie checked the oven, a roast chicken surrounded in chopped up vegetables cooking away—no signs of char. There was a pot of rice boiling on the stove, still bubbling away. 

Eddie probably had a timer set. He wouldn’t be so careless as to fall asleep without one with food in the oven. Still, it didn’t seem like him to be able to sleep with a burner on and rice cooking… He had to be so stressed. 

It was clear by the tissues, though, that he’d been crying. That he was upset. Probably exhausted and overwhelmed from traveling, from court… 

Richie cleaned up the coffee table and took Eddie’s used cup away to the sink where he found the filter for his vacuum (or so he presumed the cylindrical, loofa like thing to be). He rinsed the cup and set it aside, then filled up the electric kettle to make a fresh cup. 

He tried to work quietly as he set out plates and got silverware and napkins on the table. One less thing for Eddie to worry about. He caught the kettle before it could start to beep, hoping to let Eddie rest as long as he could. The tea was just about finished steeping by the time Eddie’s phone started to play a little tune and the man was sighing and shifting around on the couch. 

“Hey. Morning, sleepyhead,” Richie said, keeping his voice low as he came over to the couch and set down the fresh cup of tea. “Got some more tea for you. Dinner smells good.”

“What?” Eddie was blinking at him in confusion, not quite yet awake. “Oh—Oh, thank you. Thanks.” As soon as he laid eyes on the tea, though, he was reaching for it.

“Careful—Careful, Eds. It’s still hot. I just made it for you.”

“Did you just get home?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah. Dinner smells good. Roast chicken? You’re spoiling me.”

“I… I was hungry. I didn’t eat in New York.”

“What, like, at all?” Richie asked. The thought made his stomach twist. He’d been gone just about three days.

“Too… Too stressed. I tried when I went out with Ben and Beverly, but… I don’t know. I had two bites and just felt sick. Too much going on, I guess.”

“Three days… Eddie, that’s a long time to not eat. Then you get in here and try to clean my vacuum? How many times do I have to remind you to relax?” Richie asked, sitting down next to Eddie on the couch and putting an arm around him. Eddie shifted around, making himself comfortable as he blew on the surface of his tea.

“A lot, I guess...”

“Gonna have to tie you to the bed to chill you out, aren’t I?” Richie teased, watching a little smirk cross Eddie’s lips. 

“With my track record, I think tying me to the bed’s just going to get me more worked up.”

“Ah, touche. Well, if that’s what it’ll take to get you to unwind, maybe we try that later. After you have something to eat,” Richie said, keeping his tone gentle and friendly before he pressed a kiss to Eddie’s temple, trying to show that he had no intention of going any further if Eddie wasn’t in the mood. He had every right to just lay down and sleep if that was what he wanted. 

“I should probably check on the chicken,” Eddie said, passing Richie a small smile before getting up from the couch and setting his tea aside. 

Richie watched the television, learning all about Iceland, while Eddie fussed over their meal… His first meal in three days. Jesus Christ, he didn’t realize the trip was that stressful for him. He should’ve known. He should’ve had Beverly make Ben check on him and make sure he was eating—or at least having his breakfast smoothies. 

They ate their chicken with cups of tea, the bottle of wine Eddie set out earlier going unopened and untouched. Eddie eyed it now and then, but didn’t ask for it—and Richie didn’t want to push it on him if Eddie had changed his mind. It was probably best he didn’t drink, considering how long it’d been since he’d had a proper meal. Eddie really seemed to like the sweet and spicy tea, helping himself to _yet another_ cup of it after Richie had cleared away their plates and they were back to sitting on the couch. 

Eddie talked a little bit about court, how humiliated he felt reciting the events that had happened...what had led up to it. They asked him if the two of them had had an argument, as if they thought Eddie provoked him somehow. They asked if he’d defended himself… How could he? He had nothing on him but his cell phone and laptop bag that day when he’d gone home. Ben was on the line. Ben who called 911 on his behalf because he was a little too busy being stabbed in the face and hands and _chest_ to dial the numbers himself. 

Richie remembered talking to Eddie after it had all gone down—Eddie all doped up on the ‘good stuff’ at the hospital. The knife had been sticking out of his chest… Mark stabbed him that hard. Hard enough that his own stupid hand slid up the blade and made him stop, thank God. 

Someone Eddie had once loved and trusted, invested so much time and affection in, had tried to stab him through the heart. 

Later, after Richie had showered and Eddie had gone through his extensive nightly routine, they laid together in bed. Eddie had taken the rest of the week off work, but they both knew he was going to be sneaking in glances at reports despite being off the clock. 

“You know...one day you’re going to retire. What are you going to do then?” Richie asked, his left thumb caressing Eddie’s jaw while his right hand was being held to the other man’s chest.

“Get another job,” Eddie said, sounding serious a moment before he chuckled sleepily. “I don’t know… Probably die.”

“All work and no play makes Eds a dull boy.”

“I let it slide earlier, but don’t call me that. You know I hate that.”

“Mm-hmm. I hear ya.” 

Eddie scooted a little closer in order to press a kiss to Richie’s lips—then found a way to fold himself up against Richie’s chest with his head buried under his chin. He must’ve been lonely in New York, Richie thought. That or he just missed Richie somehow. 

“I missed you,” Richie whispered, hardly catching himself even after the words were out. He must’ve been on the cusp of sleep, or just so deep in thought he was thinking out loud. Either way, it made his face grow hot and his body go tense—even as Eddie stayed still in his arms aside from a sharp intake of breath...which he held, as if for dear life. 

As if about to take the plunge off a diving board. 

Shit.

“Missed me or my smoothies? You let most of the produce go bad.”

Okay, crisis averted. 

“Can’t I miss both?” Richie asked, swallowing hard and forcing himself to relax. They’d been dating for months. He could tell Eddie he missed him when he was gone for a few days without looking like an over-invested loser who was taking things too fast.

“I guess...” Eddie let out another sigh and squirmed around. Richie loosened his grip, entirely expecting Eddie to cut their cuddle short and roll away from him only to have the other man tilt his head up to kiss Richie on the chin instead. “Missed you, too.”

The warmth Richie had been feeling in his face slowly started to pool in his chest instead—a warm glow that had him smiling even with his face buried in Eddie’s damp hair. Maybe especially so.

“Oh, and, uh… By the way, I saw what you have under the bed. Very nice.” 

That had Richie’s eyes going wide and he almost asked why Eddie had been snooping under his bed—the place he’d hidden the special surprise he’d bought at the sex store—only to remember that Eddie had been trying to vacuum and had likely started in the bedroom wanting it clean so he could take a nap or something.

“It, uh… It wasn’t supposed to be like a welcome home surprise, but...surprise!” 

Eddie chuckled and squirmed around to get comfortable—hardly a centimeter of space between their bodies at all. Well, as long as he was happy, that was all that mattered. Richie shook his head and tried to tamp down on the embarrassment and just focus on the warmth. 

A warm, cozy bed finally filled up by his favorite person.

( ) ( ) ( )

If Eddie were being completely honest, he didn’t want to go back to Richie’s apartment his first night back from New York. He wanted to go back to his hotel. He had a lot of things he needed to sort out—way too many things he needed to sort out. His company wanted him to get his own apartment. They were paying the moving fees to bring all his stuff from the city, he just needed to settle on a place. The sooner the better, they said. He’d been in the hotel too long as it was.

His routine was about to be majorly, majorly disrupted. He would have to settle in again. He would have to plot a new commute to work. There was just so much he had to get done… 

And yet he knew if he went to the hotel and not Richie’s place, he would probably never speak to that other man again. One night to clear his head and ground himself would turn to two, then two would turn into avoidance because he feared what Richie would say about him wanting that time and space for himself. Two days would become two weeks, two months...eternity. 

That was how it had felt the last time Eddie ducked out to carve out time for himself in his busy schedule. He knew he needed to answer Richie’s calls, but felt paralyzed and unable any time the man’s name lit up on his screen.

Self-sabotage, his therapist called it. Deflection, avoidance, and denial. It was his ‘pattern.’ He didn’t know how his therapist could call anything to do with his relationships a pattern seeing as he’d only had two, but whatever… She had a point. He knew that ignoring Richie would have—correction, _should have_ —negative consequences, and yet he felt pulled to do it anyway. Not because he was sure he’d get away with it, but quite the opposite.

Richie would be mad and end things and Eddie could retreat back to his hole of loneliness and uncertainty and sorrowful solitude. That was what felt familiar. That sad, black pit was comfortable to him. His mother birthed him into it and Mark kept him there. Richie was the one who kept trying to show him the light, show him warmth. 

Oh, if only he knew how much Eddie craved it—craved the forbidden. 

How could he be both held and ignored? Loved and dismissed? Cherished and made guilty for it?

He wasn’t used to getting one without the other. He was sick… He was so, so sick. Why did Richie even _want_ to keep trying?

God, Richie was kinder than Eddie deserved. Or just very, very patient.

A scene, Eddie was positive, would get everything between them snapped into place. The guilt Eddie felt for _wanting_ to let them go, the selfish decisions he’d made without consulting or considering Richie at all, could be stripped away. The annoyance and anger and disappointment Richie _must_ be feeling toward him underneath his friendly exterior could be dissolved...or better yet, put to use.

And, what was even more than that, the greedy, selfish, tar-black and bottomless pit of Eddie’s desire could be satisfied. _Need._ He felt it more and more the longer he was with Richie, the longer he looked at him. It was a sick, hungry, _desperate_ thing. It was the very same thing that made him Mark’s perfect victim. In fact, it was something that had probably always existed in him. Some greedy thing… His mother knew it was there and how to extort it. Mark did the same.

Why did Richie just tiptoe around it like he couldn’t see the massive sinkhole that just opened up in the middle of his path? 

Even so, the temptation just grew and grew until Eddie couldn’t stand it and he found himself blurting it out to Richie across the table when they were out to dinner one Thursday evening that he wanted to discuss having a scene. Richie’s face had turned dark red and he gulped down two mouthfuls of wine before he leaned in and said that this restaurant wasn’t the place to discuss that kind of thing. Eddie just rolled his eyes at him because their table was secluded enough and no one was around except their server who probably had enough on her mind that their murmured conversation didn’t even catch her ear.

Still, it was out in the open—what he wanted, what he was prepared to offer—and now it was up to Richie to make the next move. He could choose to ignore what Eddie had said or lean into it. 

As it turned out, Richie chose the latter as they started walking from the restaurant to the parking garage a few blocks down the street. It was dark and getting windy, with plenty more people rushing around them than there had been in the restaurant. Eddie didn’t comment on that fact, though, when Richie piped up to say:

“So… At the restaurant, you said you had some ideas. Care to float those by me now that there’s not a sixteen-year-old waitress hovering over our shoulders?”

“She was at least twenty,” Eddie argued.

“My point still stands. She was hovering and I don’t need people knowing how I get my rocks off. We’re different in that respect, Angel. I’d die of embarrassment if a club full of people knew what I got up to in the sack.”

“Well, I almost died of a fucking staph infection, so—”

“Oh, my God. It was _not_ a staph infection. You never even had to go to the hospital.” They argued about it a while longer, then agreed to disagree all the way to Richie’s car. “So… What’s the big plan? I gotta know so I can get into my zone. I have to say, wanting to do this tomorrow doesn’t give me much time to plan.”

“It… It’s nothing big. I thought we could start small. I thought… It doesn’t _have_ to be tomorrow. I just… Well, can I just tell you how I see it playing out? What I’d like? Then...then you could tell me what you’d like, and we can give it a shot?”

“Sounds good,” Richie said, smiling at him in such a warm, reassuring way before he started his car and backed out of the parking space. 

“Okay…” It felt a little uncomfortable at first, but Eddie chalked it up as part of the experience. It was better that Richie was driving and not staring at him, though. It was a little better than whispering it at the restaurant.

He wanted to start with some of the toys they’d bought. He wanted his wrists bound, of course, but he wanted more than that. He wanted to hurt if he fought in his bindings. He wanted it to hurt if he tried to move. He wanted put in his place and for Richie to keep him there until he’d earned something else. “I don’t think I’m ready for...for implements or anything yet, though—”

“For, like, what? Like spanking?” Richie asked, blinking almost drunkenly at Eddie as he asked, eyes wide and flicking between the road and Eddie. Was he overwhelmed? He looked overwhelmed. Oh, shit.

“Uh, yeah… Watch the road, would you?”

“Sorry…” His eyes were back on the road, but they were still wide.

“I… I think we could do it. I mean, I trust you, but I’m just not ready for all the belts and whips again. You know? Because of...of everything? But I thought we could try...just your hands? Because you have such...such big hands.”

“That makes sense,” Richie said, nodding—still staring at the road, though his fingers tightened around the wheel as if responding to being mentioned.

“Is… Is this too much? Am I...” Overstepping? Being too much? Mark decided their scenes before and it was always Eddie ruling things out. Now, Eddie was paranoid that he was asking too much, or not giving enough. 

“No! No, you’re fine. I’m just...fighting to keep blood in my brain, because the more you run your mouth, the harder it gets. There’s like a whole fuckin’ porno playing in my brain right now—”

“Well, can you pause it and focus? I don’t want to die tonight.” Eddie rolled his eyes and turned his head to look at the cars stopped at the light around them.

“Right… It all sounds awesome. I’m...a little worried about hitting you, though. But that’s just a me thing. Well, not actually.” Richie squirmed around in his seat as the light turned green and cleared his throat. “I am definitely down to spank you...mostly because you kind of deserve it for concocting little sex games in your head without me. But I need to know… Eddie, I _have_ to know that you’ll stop me if it’s too much. Like, the _second_ it’s too much. I don’t care if we’re two minutes in. I want to know… I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“If something’s wrong, I’d tell you. I don’t really want to mess this up either.”

The conversation stalled until they were home—well, at Richie’s place. Eddie really needed to learn to stop himself from calling Richie’s apartment ‘home.’ He was going to have his own place before too long, and _that_ would be home. Not this.

“So… Run this by my again,” Richie said, coming out of his bathroom and shaking water off his hands because he didn’t feel like using the hand towel...apparently. Eddie sighed at the sight of him, wondering how this strange, awkward man was the one he’d ended up with—the one he was attracted to. It wasn’t like he had other options, but it felt strange watching this big awkward person flap around gracelessly in his tiny little apartment and thing, ‘Yep. Sorry, folks. This one’s mine.’

Because he was, wasn’t he? He was Eddie’s and Eddie was...his. Hopefully it’d feel more natural saying that after they had a scene which drove that point home. His. His, his, his. Eddie felt himself twitch a little bit to attention at the thought. 

“Okay, so I thought maybe we could start in the bedroom? I’m not really feeling a whole roleplay kind of thing. Just, maybe, tie me up. We can use some toys...” Eddie glanced up from Richie’s hands which he’d now dried on the thighs of his pants, and felt frozen under the other man’s gaze. Richie was just staring at him, that same wide-eyed look that he’d had in the car—like he just walked in on something he shouldn’t have. “Would that be fine?”

“Uh… Uh-huh.” 

“Yeah? Then why do you look like a just took a shit on your floor?”

“Uh...” Richie looked from him to the floor and then back up at his face. “All my blood went somewhere else. Sorry. I can focus. Okay. So toys… Is the endgame ‘Slutty Eddie has to Earn A Fucking’? Because I could _so_ get into that.”

“Why do you have to say things like that?” Eddie asked, his face going dark red. 

“I know you said no roleplay, but that would be kind of hot.”

“I wouldn’t call that a roleplay. No one’s in costume—we’re not taking it from one room to the next.” This led to an entirely too long discussion where they argued the semantics of roleplay as it pertained to the bedroom and Eddie finally caved to just accept that ‘Slutty Eddie Earns a Fucking’ was a roleplay. In his head, though, he was still just calling it a scene.

“So, if you have to earn it… Question: Do I get to decide if you’ve earned it?”

“What do you mean? You don’t want to fuck me? Because I can go—”

“Oh, my God! You get so defensive. Eddie, of course I want to fuck you. Okay? Do you see my dick? It’s about to fucking explode just thinking about it. I’m asking about, you know, getting off. Do I get to decide if you get off or not? Or is that too much?”

The question kind of had Eddie’s brain locking up, the gears grinding to a halt. 

“I… I think that’d be okay,” he managed to say, brain playing over about ten or twenty scenarios. What would he do if Richie told him no? If he asked to come and Richie told him, essentially, nope, too bad? It had his heart skipping a beat—and his dick painfully hard in his dress pants. 

“Yeah? Because I don’t want to push for more than you’re ready for. The last thing I want is to hurt you.”

“If… If it’s too much, I’ll call yellow, okay? Besides, it’s...it’s just a scene. If you say no and I come anyway, there’s really nothing you can do about it except be a dick.”

There was some kind of twisted smile on Richie’s face after he said that and it had Eddie’s stomach filling with butterflies. It was like Richie had his own ideas of what he’d do if Eddie came without permission—and even though he was confident nothing would happen to him this time if he did, he was curious to know what the penalties might be further down the line. 

He knew well what Mark’s were—always more severe than Eddie really felt necessary—and he doubted Richie’s even came close. But, in the same breath, Eddie had no clue what Richie was capable of, what he desired when he was in his Dom headspace. 

“We could… We could use some of those pegs we bought. Or the clamps?” Richie said, changing the subject as he started toward his bedroom where the toys were kept. He had them in an old Staples paper box that he’d probably used to move, and Eddie had done to respectable thing and bought divider trays from the home goods store so they were neatly organized and not just laying in a pile in the box as a big, jumbled mess. Richie dragged that box out now and had it sitting on the foot of his bed so he could rummage through it. 

Little by little, they worked out which toys could be used for the scene and which Eddie would rather not. He wanted it to be a little bit of a surprise what Richie would do, so he left a variety of options on the table without settling on any he insisted would make an appearance—though they both seemed settled on using the black, plastic clothes pegs they’d picked out at the shop. Eddie was practically licking his lips at the thought of their bite. He probably told Richie a good half dozen times that he could put them anywhere—literally anywhere—on his body. Mark had always been creative with pegs and they were one of Eddie’s favorite simple devices. Such a small, tiny object could cause so much pain and so much pleasure in all the right places. 

As they talked more and more, Eddie felt warmth begin to spread through every inch of him—a glow he hadn’t felt in a long time, maybe even ever. 

This was really going to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's about to happen, y'all! The moment you've all been waiting for. Sorry for such a slow burn. I just can't force myself to write something that doesn't feel true to the characters' development and any sooner with Eddie leaping into the sheets to be a freak just...doesn't fit his trauma. But he's recovering, and he's taking back the power Mark had stolen from him. Now we just gotta make sure our boy Richie doesn't fuck this good thing up. More soon!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost 10k words of pure smut with a splash of angst mixed in. Eddie finally gets his scene, but has he ever been able to enjoy the high of a scene without experiencing the drop?

At first, Richie didn’t know how this was expected to work out. The whole time he tried to get Eddie bound “properly,” the other man argued and snapped at him like a real brat but insisted he wasn’t “playing around.” Apparently, when it came to actual bondage, Eddie was a picky son of a bitch. Fuzzy cuffs were out, he wanted the ropes. So Richie bound his wrists four or five different times before Eddie finally deemed it good enough. There was definitely no way he was getting free on his own, so Richie hoped for Eddie’s sake that the apartment didn’t catch fire after Richie no doubt had a stroke from the frustration of putting up with his attitude. 

They needed cuffs. They needed leather cuffs, like, yesterday. And even if Eddie had mentioned at he sex shop that he wasn’t ready for a harness or a collar, he needed one of those, too. It’d make things a lot easier. Richie was honestly lucky he had red bondage rope stashed away in his closet from his last relationship because they sure as shit hadn’t gotten enough. Forcing his legs up and open in a way he couldn’t kick free or pull them shut was...a struggle. Eddie made it a struggle. Even though he kept insisting this wasn’t part of their scene, that he just “wanted it done right,” Richie was about to take his frustrations out on Eddie’s ass the minute he said he was good to go. Eddie was about to learn that paddles and whips weren’t the only way that spankings hurt. He as going to learn it good…

Eventually, they managed to make it work and Eddie was trapped in what looked to be the most uncomfortable position possible. His knees were effectively tied to one another as the rope keeping his legs spread was slid underneath the mattress to tie his other knee down and though he could move his legs a fair bit, he couldn’t unfold them and he couldn’t close them. He tested it once or twice, and each time he felt the resistance—each time the rope creaked and cut into his skin—his cock twitched a little more to attention. His breath hitched in his throat as he twisted his wrists in their bindings and struggled to close his legs, shifting around until he established to his own satisfaction that he couldn’t get free.

“Are you ready to behave now?” Richie asked, tone unamused as he watched Eddie get off on struggling. He would’ve probably been more in awe of his predicament, at having this beautiful man bound and exposed at his mercy after all the turmoil they’d been though, but he was annoyed after that battle. Maybe the sentiment would come flooding back later. 

“I’ve been behaved,” Eddie whined. 

“So, no...” 

“I’ve been behaved!” 

“This ‘Slutty Eddie Earns a Fucking’ is about to turn into ‘Bratty Eddie Gets His Ass Beat.’ Is that what you want?” Richie asked, letting his voice get a little stern. Eddie said he wanted a scene, not just to play around—and if it turned out he did just want to screw around, then he needed to just be open about it. Richie didn’t exactly like being thrust back and forth between his normal mindset and the headspace he needed to Dom. It was uncomfortable and annoying.

Eddie finally shut his mouth and stared up at Richie with huge, worried eyes, like he finally realized he was, in fact, being an insufferable brat. 

“Are you done?” Richie asked. When Eddie just kept staring at him, Richie let out a sigh and crawled over top him to press a kiss to his cheek. He was frustrated but not _mad._ He didn’t want Eddie freaking out on him. “Are you going to be good for me?” Richie asked before pressing another kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth.

“Yes, Sir,” Eddie answered, voice small and meek—like he finally realized he was a brat and his Dom deserved better. 

“Okay, good. But first we have to make sure you mean that, don’t we?” Richie could already feel the warmth spreading through his chest. He could feel Eddie squirming around underneath him—trapped and at his mercy, ready to take exactly what he was given—nothing more and nothing less. 

“Yes, sir.” His voice was shaking a little, but if his twitching cock against Richie’s belly was anything to go by, it wasn’t from fear. 

All the toys they’d agreed upon were laying on a hand towel on the nightstand: Plugs of different sizes, a couple different shaped dildos, the clothes pegs and clamps… Their lube was there, too, of course, and a fresh box of condoms and gloves. Because heaven forbid Richie get his fingers dirty. 

Richie looked over the selection, running his finger over different things when he noticed Eddie watching him, too. He already had a game plan in mind, but the wheels were turning regardless—playing out other scenarios, other possibilities. Someone like Eddie, someone with as much _experience_ as Eddie, probably didn’t need him to start off too awful slow. Even so, Richie didn’t want to go too fast and make the whole thing feel rushed. 

He turned his gaze back to Eddie who followed him with his eyes, silent and curious even as Richie stroked a warm hand down Eddie’s chest, down over his stomach which fluttered and clamped at his touch.

“Aw, are you ticklish?” Richie asked, smirking as he ghosted his fingertips over Eddie’s stomach again just to feel the muscles quiver. 

“N-No, Sir,” Eddie breathed, voice shaky.

“No? You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you?” Richie looked up at him, making sure their gazes locked. Eddie looked like he was settling in nicely, his wrists twisting only the slightest bit in their bonds. He ran his fingers over that quivering patch of muscle in the middle of Eddie’s stomach, just to see if Eddie would change his answer.

“I-I mean, not normally, Sir,” Eddie said. His attention seemed focused on Richie’s hand on his stomach.

Richie would make use of that some other time. For now, though, he just tucked this new fact away and let his hand slide down lower, his knuckles brushing against the dark, coarse hairs trailing down Eddie’s abdomen to his cock which gave a needy twitch. Richie pulled back just before he touched it, not missing the gasp Eddie let out.

“What am I going to do with you?” Richie asked. Eddie was testing his restraints again with nothing to accomplish if he managed to get them a little looser. His cock was nowhere near anything that would give it friction. Richie made sure of that.

“Play with me, Sir,” Eddie whispered. His eyes were clamped shut and his cheeks turning a little bit pink. 

“Play with you?”

“Yes, please, Sir.”

“Why? Are you my little toy, Eddie?”

The noise Eddie made, some mix between a whine of mortification and a moan all at once, had that dark heat in Richie’s chest climbing higher and higher until it reached his brain. He sighed in pleasure as he caressed Eddie’s side, stopping to cup his ass—squeezing it hard until Eddie groaned. 

“I asked you a question,” Richie said, delivering a hard slap to Eddie’s left ass cheek. The crack was loud enough to cover up whatever noise Eddie made and the pale skin turned a pretty pink as Richie pulled his hand away. 

“Yes, Sir!” Eddie called, eyes still clamped shut. “Yes, I’m your toy. I’m your little toy, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”

“That’s more like it. For a minute there I was starting to think you didn’t want to be.”

“No! I do! I do, Sir. I do. I’m sorry, Sir. Please play with me. Please play with your little toy. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good, Sir.” 

“Good.” Richie watched the mark he’d made as it started to fade into pale, pink splotch instead of a hand print, then looked back at their selection of toys. He had such a pretty canvas to work with, but it was almost as daunting as a blank sheet of paper staring back at him—waiting for him to pen his next great joke. Only a piece of paper didn’t have opinions on what should be scrawled out on it. “What should I do with you, toy? There’s so many options...” He smirked as he asked it, his fingers already closing over the set of nipple clamps they’d picked out together at the store—the ones connected by a heavy chain. He wondered how well they’d work on a man—especially Eddie, whose nipples were so tiny. Guess he’d just have to find out. 

Eddie seemed as curious as he was; his big eyes stared as Richie dangled the clamps in front of him by their chain. 

“It’s a shame I don’t have anything to attach these to, huh? Give you more of a reason to _hold still.”_ Over his head, Eddie’s wrists were starting to chafe from how much he kept squirming against the rope—his knees in much the same condition. He froze at the unspoken threat, though. (Except for his cock, however, which twitched eagerly at the idea. A little, clear bead of pre-come had started forming in the slit but not enough to spill over and drip onto his belly—not enough to make a mess. Yet…)

He let the metal chain dangle over each of Eddie’s nipples, watching them harden from the cold as Eddie fought to stay still. His legs twitched each time the little pendulum movement brought the chain in contact with the brown buds. So small and yet so demanding of attention… Of punishment. 

Eddie bit his lip and stayed silent as Richie attached the clamps to each nipple, and only opened his eyes against once Richie gave the chain connecting them a gentle tug to make sure they didn’t come loose. They stayed in place better than Richie expected, biting into Eddie’s chest and crushing his little, brown nubs between their black capped jaws. Every time Richie pulled the chain a little further away, Eddie’s cock would jump—desperately pleading for attention it wasn’t going to get. Not just yet. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were enjoying this,” Richie said, smirking down at Eddie who flicked those big eyes up at him from where he’d been staring at his abused, bound nipples. 

“I… I enjoy, Sir. I enjoy being your toy.”

One day, he was going to learn not to say things like that and get Richie worked up. 

“Yeah? You like it when I hurt you?”

Eddie moaned out a quiet yes as Richie yanked on the clamps again. 

“Well, I would hate to deprive you...” Richie turned back to the nightstand and grabbed a few of the clothes pegs, setting them on Eddie’s stomach so the other man would focus on them—think about what they’d do to him while wondering where they were going to go. 

There were quite a few plugs lined up on the towel, small to large. Eddie had spent a lot of time rolling his eyes and scoffing at the small ones Richie had bought, but right now he thought they’d do just the trick. Richie decided as he picked up the smallest of the plugs and their bottle of lube that he wouldn’t be needing the gloves tonight. They were going to work through these plugs one by one, and if Eddie kept his composure he might just earn Richie’s cock at the end. One of the plugs on the table was easily wider than Richie’s girth. Richie would use that to prep him just right. That would teach him to scoff when Richie tried to make things easy for him.

He got the small plug slicked up and wasted no time pressing it between Eddie’s legs. He teased Eddie’s rim with it a little, circling it slowly to watch Eddie jerk and twitch from the sensation and the cold, then pressed it in with a wet pop. Eddie gasped and sent one of the clothes pegs from his stomach tumbling onto the mattress beside him. 

“What? I thought you couldn’t feel the small ones?” Richie teased, grinning at Eddie who shivered while his hole clamped down on the plug. Richie turned his gaze to the base of the small, black plug as it bobbed under the force of Eddie’s muscles clenching around it. Richie grasped the base between two of his fingers and toyed with it—tugging now and then and twisting it, just to watch Eddie’s rim fight against him. When he pulled it hard enough for the toy to pop out, Eddie flinched and sent two more of the pegs off his stomach and onto the bed. “How many times do I have to tell you to hold still?” Richie asked, feigning disappointment as he gathered up the pegs that fell.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Eddie said, his tone so different than it had been when they started—smaller and meeker than it had been even moments ago. 

“More than once… Am I right?” 

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Did I ask if you were sorry?” Richie asked. He let the pegs fall from his hands in order to grab Eddie by his chin, jerking it just a little—just enough to get Eddie to open his eyes and look at him.

“N-No, Sir.”

“No. I asked how many times I have to ask you. How many times do I have to ask you before you learn to behave?” 

“One, Sir,” Eddie said, not learning to keep his eyes on Richie’s when he was being spoken to. Instead, he wanted to look off at the wall. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Richie warned. He loosened his grip, though, in case it was something Eddie just didn’t know to do. Some Doms didn’t allow eye contact. Mark was probably one of them. “Good boy,” Richie said when Eddie immediately listened. He moved to caress Eddie’s cheek, stroking one of his cheekbones with his thumb. “You _can_ follow directions.”

“I want to be good for you, Sir. I’m trying.”

“I know you are, Angel,” Richie said. Eddie’s face softened just at hearing the petname, tension Richie hadn’t even noticed leaving Eddie’s arms so that they were slack against his bindings. “Now I want you to hold still, alright? If something hurts too much, use your colors. Okay?”

“Okay, Richie.” Somehow, the way he said Richie’s name while his head rested against the pillow and his eyes closed, was endearing. In a way, it was as if he were scoffing at Richie being worried about pushing him too far while also eating up the affection at the same time. Either way, he knew he was in good hands. He knew he was safe. 

That was really all the permission Richie needed to give in to the dark heat that descended over him.

The first peg bit into the flesh on the underside of Eddie’s cock, right at the base. It extracted a small scream from the other man and Richie watched as the pain coursed through Eddie’s features, his eyes twisted up and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. The next two pegs were right above it and as soon as the third peg was in place, that bead of pre-come finally spilled down onto Eddie’s stomach. 

While he was still squirming around (trying really hard not to), Richie grabbed for another one of the plugs, the next size in the row, and slicked it up without Eddie even seeming to notice what was happening until the small plug was being pulled from him. This plug, too, slid home easily without too much coercion—though with a lot less teasing this time. 

“You really are a slut, aren’t you? This doesn’t even faze you, does it?” Richie tapped on the base of the plug a few times, just to watch Eddie clench around it. 

“I-I love it, Sir. Feels so good. Everything feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Richie asked, grabbing up the chain connected to the clamps on Eddie’s nipples and giving them a good tug. Eddie’s whole body twitched, the pegs clamped onto his straining cock swaying a little bit from it. Every pulse of his cock was so exaggerated by those pegs and Richie was suddenly overcome with the impulse to see how many he could fit on that one sensitive appendage. He really hadn’t set out to see if he could fit them all on Eddie’s poor cock, but now he _wanted_ to. Eddie would probably find it boring—unimaginative. So he had to resist that urge and try to develop it more while he toyed with the chain in his hand. He really needed to find a way to connect this to Eddie cock so every time it twitched with lust, it hurt him, too. Shame needles and piercings were hard limits.

Richie let go of the chain in order to make use of the other pegs. He managed to get one to bite into the lip of Eddie’s cock—where the head connected to the base—and delighted in the choked scream Eddie let out. Richie paused, waiting to see if it was too much—if such a sensitive place made Eddie tap out—but Eddie just squirmed as the initial pain bled into a dull ache. 

“That one got your attention, didn’t it?” Richie asked, caressing the glans of Eddie’s cock with his thumb as it’d started to go soft after that last peg. 

“H-Hurts. Sir. It—It really hurts, Sir.”

“Mm. But you take it so well, don’t you? You like it when it hurts.”

“I-I love when it hurts, Sir. So good. Hurts so good.” Eddie’s voice was rough, strained, and his wrists were twisting around in the ropes holding him in place. His legs, too, were trying desperately to close and the skin where the ropes bit into it was red and angry. He was going to give himself rope burn and some pretty serious bruises if he kept it up…

It was probably what the little pain slut was counting on. And who was Richie to deny him? He couldn’t say he didn’t like it, too.

“One more, I think… Right here,” Richie said, nudging the little lip of skin right beside the peg already biting into the head of Eddie’s cock. 

“No!” Eddie wailed, his arms and legs jerking so hard against the ropes Richie honestly expected his bed frame to break.

“No? But you make such pretty noises when it hurts. Hm?” Richie kept nudging the flesh, the mouth of the peg open so that its jaws caressed the inflamed skin. He was waiting for Eddie to say yellow. He was giving him all the time in the world to say it, but he didn’t. He also gave no signs of approval, but that didn’t necessarily mean he didn’t want it somewhere deep beneath the surface. “You love it, don’t you, little slut? That’s why you’re here. You like when I hurt you.”

Eddie whimpered and twisted his wrists around some more, then muttered out a quiet, “Yes, Sir,” which was permission enough for Richie to carefully allow the peg to bite down—making sure it wouldn’t snap itself off the skin and cut it when it did. “Ow! Ow, Sir! Ow—ow, ow, ow! Hurts! Sir, it hurts! It hurts so bad!” 

There were tears in Eddie’s eyes when Richie looked up at him, but he didn’t use a safeword and he didn’t ask to stop. So, all Richie did was click his tongue and stroke his thumb over the glans of Eddie’s cock again, trying to keep it from going completely soft. It was flagging again under the pain. Richie really didn’t know how Eddie could stand it. One of these pegs on his cock and Richie would be down for the count—but CBT was definitely not on his green light list. 

Richie gave Eddie all the time he needed to recover, waiting until he’d stopped trying to close his legs to make another move. Once again, his attention came back to the clamps biting into Eddie’s nipples and picked up the chain.

“You took that so well… I think you’ve earned a reward. Don’t you?” Richie asked.

“Please, Sir,” Eddie said, looking at him with those large, wet eyes. He was scared, but in a good way, and the difference was plain to see. Richie had seen Eddie terrified, and this wasn’t it. 

“How about I give these a break, huh?” Richie asked, yanking the chain just hard enough that the clamps were jerked off of Eddie’s nipples with a loud snap. Eddie let out a shrill yelp, but his cock started twitching back to life as the pain settled in. “What do we say, Eddie?”

“Th-Thank you,” Eddie said, voice shaking before he sniffled. “Thank you, Sir.” 

His nipples were swollen and bruised, and Richie couldn’t help but to tweak them between his fingers to make Eddie groan. He leaned down over Eddie’s body, careful not to push on or catch one of those precariously positioned pegs on the head of his cock, and lapped his tongue over one of the sore buds. He could taste the salt of Eddie’s sweat, could feel the man’s heart as it raced—could feel his deep breaths as the pleasure and the pain starting mixing together. Richie kissed and suckled the tiny nubs until he was sure the circulation had come back—then he snapped the clamps right back in place, the jaws biting down on the opposite sides from where they’d been before. 

Eddie let out a sob and tensed, already anticipating it when Richie tugged on the chain to make sure they were secure. 

“Are you complaining?” Richie asked.

“No, Sir. Just hurts, Sir. It hurts, sir.”

“Do you need a break?” Richie asked, watching as Eddie defiantly shook his head no against the pillow. He was sweating, the pillow beneath his head and neck damp with it. “Water?”

That got Eddie’s eyes to open and he nodded just a little, like he didn’t want to admit it—or was afraid Richie meant something else than offering him a drink from the glass beside the bed. 

Richie grabbed for the water and moved around on the bed so he could help Eddie support his head to get a drink. Eddie’s arms shook the whole time from the strain of the position, but he drank a few mouthfuls and then laid back down and sighed. Richie set the glass aside and ran his fingers through Eddie’s damp hair a few times before going back to the position he was in before. 

Eddie had calmed down a little and was less twitchy as Richie began teasing at the plug he had buried between his legs. He popped it in and out a few times, keeping the widest part of the flare right at the opening for a moment or two each time so Eddie could really feel the stretch. It had his cock twitching desperately again and every now and then he’d try to raise his hips as if it’d somehow get him friction—not that he’d be wanting to rub the clamped tip of his cock against anything. 

“I-I can… I can take more, Sir. I… I want more. H-Hurt me, Sir. Please. Please?” Eddie said, his voice still that meek little whine. 

“If you insist,” Richie said, grabbing more pegs and another plug from their nightstand. Eddie’s chest rose and fell a little more quickly as four more pegs were dropped onto his stomach so Richie could slick the larger plug with lube. He skipped a size in the progression, but Eddie asked for it to hurt. Who was Richie to deprive him?

( ) ( ) ( )

Eddie was in sweet agony, every sensitive place on his body was throbbing in pain and he couldn’t stop moaning from it as he tugged at the ropes binding him. It got him in more trouble when he pulled, but he didn’t care—he was counting on it. Richie promised to spank him and so far he’d only gotten one swat. Patience was never his strongest trait, but Eddie was trying his best.

He was really doing all he could to not burst out of his skin with two of the black pegs biting into the tip of his cock right where it connected to the base—a sadistic move that even Mark had never made—and three more along the underside of his length. He had two pegs clamped down onto each of his testicles and the nipple clamps were almost constantly being tweaked or tugged so Eddie couldn’t possibly forget they were there. They really didn’t hurt unless they were being pulled on and it was like Richie _knew_ it.

There were a few pegs left on the nightstand and maybe three or four more plugs. None of the dongs had been used on him yet and Eddie was really starting to lose his composure. He wanted the spanking he was promised. He wanted to feel Richie’s big, strong hands painting his skin crimson. He was so painfully aroused and yet all Richie seemed to want to do was torment him with these small plugs. He couldn’t fucking _take it._

When Richie pulled the medium plug free after spending an ungodly amount of time popping it back in and out, Eddie made a show of trying to wiggle away from the larger one that Richie rubbed against his hole. Maybe if he acted out, he’d get punished. Maybe that was what Richie meant when he said Edie had to earn it. 

It was with a sinking feeling of dread that Eddie began to realize what this game actually was. If he behaved, he wouldn’t earn himself a spanking. If he misbehaved, he wouldn’t necessarily earn the privilege of Richie fucking him. 

“I keep telling you to hold still,” Richie warned, yanking Eddie back into position from where he’d managed to wiggle. Eddie gave one last defiant squirm, whimpering pathetically as he did, and earned himself five sharp slaps across his ass. He couldn’t help the moan that erupted from him, and he knew Richie noticed it, too. While he was still teeming from the pleasure, the plug was pressed hard against his opening until his rim relaxed enough to let it inside. The stretch was painful, the burn mixing with the ache in Eddie’s nipples and the utter agony his cock and balls were in. He could feel a cold spurt of pre-come drip onto his stomach from the sensation of it all. “I don’t know, Eddie… I think you want me to punish you. Is that it?”

“Y-Yes, Sir,” Eddie admitted. There was no point lying. There was also no point skirting the issue. He felt like he was about to explode and he wanted what Richie _promised_ him. Maybe if he was good and just asked for it, Richie would oblige him.

“That’s why you can’t follow simple instructions, isn’t it? It’s not because you’re a dumb fucking slut… You’re just a greedy little painslut, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Sir. Please, please punish me, Sir. Make me be good. Make me be a good toy.”

“I don’t know… Toys don’t usually disobey to get what they want. I don’t think you deserve it.”

Eddie was so frustrated he could cry. His cock hurt, his balls hurt, his nipples and his wrists and his legs _hurt,_ but Richie still wouldn’t give him what he wanted. It wasn’t enough… 

“Please… I-I just want to hurt. Please make me hurt, Sir. Make me be good. M-Make me be better.”

“Are _you_ giving the orders now? You really are asking for it, aren’t you?” His tone changed. Richie’s tone changed so fast that Eddie’s gaze snapped to his face just to make sure he wasn’t really in as much danger as that tone implied. 

Richie’s eyes were so dark, his expression so threatening minus the little smirk on his lips. 

He wasn’t _really_ mad. It was still just a game. 

“Please, Sir,” Eddie attempted, licking his lips—his eyes locked on Richie’s. 

“I’m going to make you regret asking, sweetheart. You can be sure of that.” Richie took a deep breath and reached out for the chain connecting Eddie’s nipples and he almost whined in defeat. They’d had _enough._

_He’d_ had enough—or _not_ enough. Fuck, Eddie didn’t know. It just wasn’t what he needed. It was good—so, so good—but he needed more.

He let out a sharp cry as the clamps were yanked off of him for the second time—the splitting pain whiting out his brain for a moment as his poor nipples throbbed from the abuse. Eddie instinctively looked down at them to make sure the force hadn’t drawn blood. They seemed okay, and Richie pinched and twisted them a few times and checked his fingers as if to look for telltale signs of blood as well. Must not have been anything, because his next move was to lock eyes with Eddie before gripping the base of his cock and releasing the pegs one by one. 

Each hurt more than the last, even if he was careful to release the pegs instead of yanking them. One, two, and three… He went slowly up the length of Eddie’s cock, then removed the four pegs that were biting into his balls before settling on the last two—the ones abusing his poor tip, the ones that hurt the most. 

“Are you ready?” Richie asked, no warmth or playfulness in his voice. Eddie was about to get the punishment of his lifetime if that tone was anything to go by.

He gulped and then nodded, watching Richie’s fingers as they closed around the first of the two pegs. The pain of its hold being released was even worse than the pain of having the peg put on and Eddie felt a tear cut down his cheek as he cried out from just the first one being taken off. It throbbed and ached and stung—and then doubled as the second was removed. 

Eddie twisted around, instincts telling him to reach down and caress the sore area while the ropes which bound him kept him in place. He couldn’t close his legs to protect his poor cock and the pain grew and grew with each passing second—all of it exposed to Richie was silently watched Eddie break his rules for the umpteenth time by struggling. 

Through it all, Eddie’s cock stood tall—painfully hard despite the abuse, so helpless to protect itself and so eager for more. Eddie prayed Richie didn’t put those pegs back in the same place later on, but his cock twitched when the dark thought that _he definitely could, he very well might_ passed through Eddie’s brain. If he did, Eddie would be defenseless against it. He was bound and at Richie’s mercy. His Dom would get to decide if his cock had suffered enough or if it needed a reminder of why it was best that Richie’s toy followed his rules to the T.

The very next thing Eddie knew, Richie’s left arm was hooked under Eddie’s knees, forcing his knees back closer to his head and exposing more of his helpless ass to Richie’s large, heavy right hand. His hole clenched around the plug still buried deep inside of him and Eddie wondered if Richie was going to pull it out of him in this position. It was as close to the diaper position as he could get with how his legs were bound around the mattress, but with his legs spread his stuffed hole and crack were completely on display. 

His cheeks burned dark red at the thought of how he must look to Richie. Here he was, spread and helpless because he didn’t know how to follow rules—spread and at Richie’s mercy because he _wanted_ to be, because he _liked_ to be.

The first blow drove home the point that Eddie was in trouble—that this was punishment and not play. His hand cracked down right on the center of Eddie’s ass, directly over the plug so that it was driven a little deeper. The second spank landed in the same place, punishing Eddie’s insides as well as his cheeks. He moaned softly and tried to squirm only to realize that his legs were useless. Richie had them pinned and they couldn’t even twitch. They trembled though, and with each spank which fell, his body began shaking harder and harder. 

The crack of Richie’s hot palm colliding with his flesh was deafening. Eddie could feel himself whining and gasping, but couldn’t even hear the sounds himself as relentless blow after relentless blow fell on the cheeks of his ass. Before long, the lingering pain throbbing in his cock from the pegs was dissolved by how hard his ass was being spanked. He could almost feel the bruises forming with each solid blow that rained down. There was no warm-up (not that Eddie needed it) and the intensity only seemed to grow as Richie spanked him harder and harder. 

For the moment, his focus was directly on Eddie’s sit spots. He alternated between the two spanking harder and harder until Eddie was whining at a volume shrill enough to attract his attention. Richie paused then, his hot hand caressing and then painfully squeezing the abused flesh while the man looked over his shoulder at Eddie who was ashamed to admit he was sniffling. 

“Are you starting to learn your place?” Richie asked, his voice so calm and even while his fingernails scraped over the inflamed skin of Eddie’s right ass cheek. 

Eddie didn’t know why he said what he did, especially considering how much his ass was stinging and burning, but the words that came out instead of the ‘Yes, Sir’ he meant was, “No, Sir.”

That had Richie’s right eyebrow shooting up in surprise that rivaled Eddie’s own. 

“You’re _not_ learning?” Richie asked, giving Eddie another out. He stared up at the other man, chest hitching as he weighed his options—trying to be quick even though he knew he had time. Richie was now caressing and squeezing his other cheek. 

“C-Can you please teach me, Sir? T-Teach me to be good?” Eddie said, knowing he’d just signed his own death certificate. It had just been _so long._

There was nothing else in his head except for himself and Richie and the pleasure-pain between them. He could see that Richie was hard in the dark boxer-briefs he’d elected to keep on. All Eddie wanted in the world was for this to go on a little longer, to slip in a little deeper.

He could still _think,_ Eddie realized, and that was part of the problem. So long as he could think, he was present. And if he was present, he wasn’t being the _best_ sub. He wasn’t being the sub he knew Richie deserved.

“You really want punished that bad, huh?” Richie asked, his fingers finding the plug nestled between Eddie’s cheek and toying with it. He tugged it until the flared bulb was right at Eddie’s rim, making his hole stretch open around it to its widest point before pushing it back in. 

“Y-Yes, Sir,” Eddie stammered, watching Richie’s hand and tensing as the plug was pulled on again. 

“Then I think we need to quit fucking around here and get to it, don’t we?” Richie said, his voice that same, frighteningly even tone. It was so unlike any tone Richie took with him any other time they were together. Even when they had their little power plays in the bedroom, Richie’s voice had never sounded like this. So dark and deep and…

And he was reaching for the biggest plug on the table. Eddie’s eyes went wide at the sight of it. They were skipping other sizes. It wasn’t the largest Eddie had taken, but it was thick. It was going to hurt going in and it was going to hurt even worse to have it inside him while being spanked. 

Eddie whimpered and tried to clench down on the plug he already had inside—a desperate attempt to put off what he _knew_ he craved, what he _knew_ he wanted. He deserved that ache. He’d earned it.

Still, when he tried to keep the plug inside him, it earned him a few extra swats to his already sore sit-spots and then one hard spank right on his perineum that finally made him behave and let it go. That was a place he did _not_ want to be punished. He’d take it, but he didn’t _want_ it. 

“Good to know,” Richie said to himself, drawing Eddie out of his thoughts. Had he said that out—ow!

The plug was taken from him none too gently and the larger one was lined up to take its place. 

“Breathe, Angel. You can take it. I know you can...” He was gently probing Eddie’s hole with the plug, smearing the lube that was on it around. He speared Eddie with it a few times, not pushing it in too deep at first until Eddie had relaxed more. Even so, it was still an agonizing process as it grew wider and wider. “That’s it. Hurts, doesn’t it?” 

“Hurts, Sir,” Eddie agreed, eyes screwed shut as it was pushed even deeper inside him. He was being spread open so wide and the slow stretch was torture. He couldn’t help the way his hole clenched around it, making it hurt worse—almost like _it_ wanted to punish Eddie, too. Why else would it keep spasming and making itself hurt? 

Eddie’s jaw was quivering as the widest part was pressed to his rim. Richie kept it there—kept his hole gaping around it, unable to suck it deeper and close around the tapered neck. Richie kept it right there until Eddie started to sniffle, then pushed it the rest of the way home and wiped his fingers off on a tissue. 

“How does that one feel, Eddie? Are you sorry for making fun of these ones now?” Richie asked, gesturing to the smaller plugs on their table.

“Yes, Sir,” Eddie whimpered. 

“I thought that might happen… How are you feeling now?”

“S-Sorry,” Eddie sniffed, he was fighting to keep from crying—his limbs trembling from being bound so long. Richie seemed to noticed that, too as he started caressing Eddie’s left leg and rubbing it.

“If I let your legs down, will you behave?” Richie asked.

He gave outs. He gave so many outs and Eddie melted for it, even as he said, “Probably not, Sir,” effectively saying he wanted to stay bound even though his legs were hurting in a not so fun way. 

“Alright… Have it your way, then,” Richie said, rubbing Eddie’s leg one last time before hiking him back up into the position he’d been in before. 

Eddie stared up at the ceiling, trying to even out his breaths as he felt Richie’s hand caressing the globes of his ass—his fingers toying at the base of the plug again. Please, please, don’t yank on it again, Eddie thought. Please, no more of that. At least not right now. It hurt… It hurt just having it inside and his rim was still stinging from being stretched open for it for so long. 

“Usually I’d give you a number, but I think you’re beyond all that… I think I’ll keep count and you can just lay there and wonder how many you earned.”

Eddie whimpered in response to that, already bracing himself. 

“You can be good for me and say thank you...at least while you still can.” He flashed Eddie a cruel smirk and Eddie felt his stomach twist up with nerves even as his cock gave a delighted leap. Richie noticed that, too, and tapped his finger against the tip—taunting it. “If you take it like a good boy, I _might_ give this some attention. What do you think?”

“I-I think it’s up to you, Sir. I’m your toy. I don’t get a say, Sir… Your toy.” His cheeks burned when he said it. He _was_ just a toy—at least for right now. At least in this moment, he was Richie’s helpless little toy with no say at all in how much pain or how much pleasure he got. 

“You’re just happy to be getting played with at all, aren’t you?” Richie asked, practically sneering at him.

“Yes, Sir,” Eddie breathed, voice shaking as Richie raised his palm and turned his attention back to Eddie’s helpless ass—all spread out and open for him. 

The spanks were as methodical as they were merciless. Eddie yelped from the first blow that struck him directly over the plug. He was given no time to recover before the next blow struck his upper left thigh, then his upper right thigh. Back and forth, back and forth, dead center twice, back and forth—again and again. Every inch of his exposed skin was battered by Richie’s heavy hand. Eddie couldn’t help the way his hips and thighs twisted, trying to get away despite being tied by the ropes and pinned by Richie’s left arm. 

They were sets of ten, Eddie realized—probably his last coherent thought. Four on each side and two in the middle, over the plug. How many sets, he had no clue. His ass felt as if it were on fire and his hole already felt bruised from the force of the plug being fucked into him with each spank centered over it. 

Eddie did his best to say thank you, but more than anything he was just crying out and stammering useless noises. Richie’s force never grew, but the pain sure did. His cock was leaking pre-come all over his stomach and every inch of his flesh was slick with sweat that made him feel cold all over. He had goosebumps everywhere—could feel his hairs standing on end even through the unbearable heat that had overcome his poor, battered ass. 

His awareness began to center on those two blows that signaled the end of each set—the blows that drove the plug into him to rub his insides raw. 

“Th-Thank you, Sir! Thank you—ow!” Eddie was sobbing, knowing he’d taken well over a hundred. How long had it been? How long had it been since pure skin to skin left him in tears? 

It was so good. It was too good. It was more than he deserved. 

Eddie felt the dam break and he was weeping as another set of ten burned into his aching flesh. 

So good. It was so good. He tried to say thank you but all that came out were broken cries that he feared would make Richie stop.

All that existed was the pain and the tight hold of the ropes and Richie’s arm pressing into his legs. Hurt, hurt, hurt. Good, good, _great._

There was no Richie and no Eddie—just Sir. Just Sir and sub. 

It got quiet before Eddie realized the spanking had stopped and the only sounds in the room were his cries as Sir rubbed the abused, burning skin he’d just punished. Eddie tried to say thank you again but nothing came out except a shuddering sob. His whole body throbbed, first in pain and then pleasure after the wave had passed. Again and again, even as the plug nestled between his cheeks was pulled out of him. 

He watched as Sir moved to set it on table by the others, then stared up at his Sir’s face as the hand that had just been spanking him so ruthlessly began to gently stroke his cheek. 

What would he do next? Eddie wondered as he stared up at him through teary eyes. His hole was clenching desperately with nothing for it to hold, leaving him feeling empty… 

Empty…

Was he not good? Did he not earn more? 

The thought filled Eddie’s chest with panic and frantically tried to rock his hips back into the position he’d been in before in case Sir wanted to spank him more to prove he learned his lesson. He really couldn’t take much more, but he’d try. He’d try so hard to be good for him… Where had he gone wrong? 

“Shh. Don’t pout, Angel. You’re doing so good for me. You know that?”

“N-No, Sir,” Eddie said, voice catching in his throat. If he’d done good, why was he empty? Why did it stop?

“No? Aw, Angel… You’re doing _so_ good for me. I just need you to calm down, okay? Catch your breath. Catch your breath and we can play more, okay? Don’t you want that?” 

Catch his breath? 

More tears fell as Eddie tried to calm himself down. In the end, Sir brought his inhaler to his lips for him and after that it was so much easier to fill his lungs all the way. He hadn’t even realized…

The thought made him start to laugh. He’d thought he’d been bad, but it was just his asthma acting up again. Sir was so smart…

“That’s it. Now, Angel, I know you won’t like this, but I need to take your legs down. Understand?”

“No, Sir,” Eddie whined. He knew he didn’t get a say, but he didn’t want it. He liked the helpless feeling—he liked being accessible for whatever his Sir wanted. 

“Don’t make me spank you again. Your legs are shaking like crazy. If you hold still and let me untie you, I’ll give you that fucking you’re after. How’s that sound?”

It did sound good… So Eddie watched, sniffling now and then, as Sir untied his legs. First his left and then his right. The ache set in immediately, and his ass throbbed as it pressed down into the mattress. He could feel the heat now more than ever, and for some reason it got his pathetic cock twitching back to attention. 

Eddie was whimpering and twisting his wrists in their bindings, hoping they weren’t next, while Sir rubbed at the skin where it was chafed around Eddie’s knees. They were getting tingly and he could feel his pulse in his legs about as much as he felt it in his ass cheeks. So, so sore. So good…

“I think we can put these back now, huh?” Sir said, calling Eddie’s attention away from his cock which he hadn’t realized he’d been staring at. Sir had the clamps again, and was swinging them back and forth on their chain like a hypnotist. 

Eddie nodded his head, unable to get his throat to un-stick in order to answer out loud. The pain of the clamps biting into his sore nipples had his cock pumping out another dribble of pre-come that wetted his belly. Sir kept tweaking and teasing the chain, tugging and twisting at Eddie’s poor nipples, until Eddie couldn’t help but to open his legs and thrust up against the absolutely, crushing nothingness between them. 

“So needy,” Sir said, dropping the chain and turning his attention away.

Eddie felt the panic come back tenfold as soon as Sir’s eyes were off him and he whimpered as he clamped his legs shut—not so much in fear of punishment between them, but from feeling so vulnerable and exposed around someone he’d disappointed. 

Out of nowhere, he was crying again and Sir was looking back at him with wide eyes—like _he_ was surprised.

“Angel! I was getting a condom. C’mon… It’s okay. Look at me. Eddie, look at me, Angel.” 

Eddie was shaking again, trying to do what Sir asked him to but afraid of what he’d see if he looked him in the eye too long. He just wanted Sir’s attention. He didn’t mean to be needy. He wanted to be the perfect toy and he _wasn’t._ He wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t a good toy… 

“Darling, don’t cry… Hey, hey. Shh.” Warm hands caressed his cheeks and smoothed over his hair, then soft lips were pressing against his cheeks and his chin and the tip of his nose. “Can I untie your hands, Angel?”

Eddie tipped his head back to look at his wrists, at the red rope tied around them. 

“Please no, Sir,” Eddie said. He wanted to be good. He wanted to finish what he’d started. He wanted to prove—

“Are you sure? We can take a break if you need it, Angel. You look a little overwhelmed. Are you feeling overwhelmed?”

“No, Sir,” Eddie answered, still staring at the rope. Was that true? He guessed it was. He wasn’t so much overwhelmed as at his peak. 

“Can you give me a color, Eddie?”

Color? It had been a long time since anyone asked him that… Forever, maybe.

“Eddie, if you can’t tell me a color, I’m taking your hands down, okay?”

“No, Sir. Green… Green, Sir. It’s green. I’m okay. Please keep playing. I-I want to keep playing with you, Sir. Want to...want to be good.” And he did. More than anything in the world. He wanted to be a good sub to a good Dom like Sir and make him proud. He’d do whatever it took. 

“Okay. Well, I’m going to put on a condom… So don’t cry. Alright?” 

“Okay, Sir,” Eddie answered, watching Sir’s hands as he grabbed the gold, foil wrapper and tore it open. He still had on his dark colored boxer-briefs, and Eddie licked his bottom lip as he watched them lower so Sir’s cock could spring free. It was so big and dark red, looking painful. The idea flashed through Eddie’s brain of the tip of it resting on his tongue. How heavy would it be? Would it be more bitter or salty? 

He let out a low whine as he realized with his hands tied over his head, he could move to try to lap at it and find out. It didn’t stop him from trying though. The lesson he’d supposedly learned through his spanking to keep still already dissolved from his brain. He wanted to taste Sir’s cock. It looked so big and pretty and clean. Eddie was sure it was clean—he wouldn’t get sick if he swallowed down all it could give, right? And Sir would like it. Sir would like it because Eddie’s only pleasure would come from the satisfaction of pleasing his Dom. 

“Sir?” Eddie panted, watching the man’s fist slide up and down his cock to slick it with lube.

“I told you to be patient,” Sir said. Eddie snapped his mouth shut and laid still. Sir didn’t want his mouth… That wasn’t how he wanted to play and Eddie had to be okay with that.

Didn’t mean he had to like it though. He stared up at the ceiling after that, focusing on the burning and throbbing of his ass and the biting pain in his nipples from the clamps. Hurt so good… Everything hurt so good and they weren’t even done yet. 

That idea had Eddie’s eyes rolling back as he opened his legs expectantly. Sir, of course, did not leave him waiting for too long. 

The plug had him stretched and it was with very little resistance that Sir was able to press inside. Eddie hadn’t even realized that there was now a towel balled up under the small of his back to keep him in position, but he appreciated it as his legs slowly closed around Sir’s hips. He didn’t dare squeeze or try to force him deeper. No, that could very well end with another spanking or pegs being added places Eddie didn’t want—though having one or two on his cock right now wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. He kind of liked having to fight to feel the pleasure underneath all the pain. 

The pace Sir set up was rough, and the man’s weight pressing down on him had Eddie feeling so small. Sir was kissing and nipping at Eddie’s neck, one elbow propping him up while the other pinned Eddie’s hip so he didn’t wiggle away. Not that he really wanted to. 

His cock was able to brush against Sir’s stomach—the first pleasurable touch it’d had since their night began—and with every harsh thrust that drove Sir’s cock deeper into Eddie’s guts, it pushed him closer to the edge. So close already, like the desperate slut he was. 

Eddie moaned and rocked his hips up against his Dom’s, delighted and feeling a little mischievous that the other man seemingly hadn’t caught on to the effect he was having on Eddie’s cock. His belly was completely slick with Eddie’s pre-come and yet he hadn’t commented on it. He was just puffing and growling against Eddie’s collarbone where he’d sucked in a bruise. 

He was close—he was so, so close, and Sir’s cock was just centimeters away from his sweet spot and it seemed as though the other man was pinning his hip so he couldn’t wiggle and get Sir to hit that spot before he’d...earned it.

Eddie moaned as his cock throbbed against his Dom’s belly. He was trying to be good. He wanted to come but not if he didn’t earn it… He’d been so bad this whole time—always moving without permission, even after he’d been soundly spanked for it. He was too dumb to learn. If his cock or his greedy ass were involved, he was too fucking dumb to learn. But, God, did he _try._

“S-Sir? Sir, c-can I come? Please? Please, Sir? I’m s-so close.”

“Well, you’d better hold it,” Sir growled, his breath hot against Eddie’s neck. It made Eddie’s whole body shiver with pleasure. 

He tried. He really, really tried his best, but as soon as Sir’s cock slammed into his prostate, he lost all control. Eddie choked out a scream and he felt his orgasm being torn from him, ropes of come spurting onto his and Sir’s stomachs while he twitched helplessly against the ropes binding his arms to the headboard. 

Sir was calling him names that just served to turn Eddie’s brain to mush. Greedy slut was the one Eddie latched onto the most. He was, it was true. Greedy slut. Eddie was a greedy slut. Greedy and in need of a lesson. Maybe Sir needed to spank him harder. 

Oh, but to feel the paddle on his ass after how much abuse it had already endured? Could he take it?

He’d try… If it would make him be good, he’d try.

Eddie was staring at the ceiling panting, smiling to himself with his wrists still bound while his Sir laid on top of him, breathing just as hard. Eddie could feel his cock still buried inside, but going soft—growing smaller until it slipped out. 

Eddie knew he’d been bad, but he couldn’t help feeling proud of himself. Sir still got off. Sir was still lying on top of him and holding him. Everything just felt warm and static-y and soft, even after Sir sat up and began wiping them both off with wet wipes, Eddie was blissed out and gone. He came back a little bit as the wet wipe swiped over his tender hole, and then a little more when the clamps were taken off his nipples for good. The unbearable pain as the circulation flooded back would wake a person from a coma, Eddie swore. 

“Sir?” Eddie asked, watching as the man threw away the wipe and set all the clamps and pegs on the towel on the nightstand. 

“Hm? Are you going to let me untie you now?” He asked, smiling so fondly. Eddie hadn’t obeyed, and he was fairly certain it was the only time he’d ever come after being told specifically not to by his Dom, but he was still getting affection. For now…

“Please?” Eddie answered. Now that his cock was satisfied, it was beginning to set in just how much his arms _did_ hurt. He watched Sir’s hands as they worked at the rope, thinking about how gentle they were being as they made Eddie lay his arms at his side compared to how rough they’d been when administering his punishment. 

“There you go, Angel. Stay just like that, okay? Stay right there.” Sir was getting up from the bed and Eddie’s heart skipped a beat. He was leaving? Was this the punishment for coming without permission? 

No! No, no! No, he’d take it back! 

Eddie tried to cry out, but all he could do was whimper as he watched Sir leave the bedroom with the door cracked open behind him. His Dom was gone. His Dom left… Sir left.

All alone.

He was on his own.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure, but I think you guys might like this one. Not as much as the last of course, but it's still pretty good.

If he’d been more aware of his surroundings, Eddie might’ve heard the flood of piss crashing into the toilet bowl as Richie collapsed down onto it—yes, _down_ onto it. He didn’t realize he needed to piss that bad until it felt like it was about to come pouring out of him and he did, embarrassingly enough, lose a drop or two on the floor in his naked hustle to the bathroom. It was a _small_ apartment so Eddie should’ve heard him. If not the pissing, then the huffing and puffing and groaning as it all came flooding out with a force so strong Richie didn’t trust his knees not to buckle if he stood there to do it. 

It’s not like the tiny place was soundproofed. Richie definitely heard the crash of the other man falling out of bed.

“Jesus Christ!” He tried to hurry up the stream of urine and then left the bathroom without even managing to flush or wash his hands. Oh, he’d fumbled around for the lever but gave up after pressing kind of down on it and not succeeding in getting the toilet to do anything but rumble. 

He found Eddie squirming around on the floor—not able to crawl because his arms were probably numb, and if not numb, then definitely stiff and in pain. He had knocked the towel holding the dirtied toys and the dildos onto the floor and was trying to pick them up or something while shaking and muttering to himself.

“Baby—Baby, drop that! Put that down! Come here. C’mon. Here, here. Let me help.” He knelt down beside Eddie on the floor and tried pulling the toys out of his hands. Eddie _really_ didn’t seem to want to let go, but his grip gave out and Richie set them aside. “Hey, what are you doing?” 

“C-Cleaning,” Eddie answered. He looked scared and sad and Richie felt his spirits sink. This was _exactly_ what he’d hoped to avoid. Eddie had seemed so spacey and out of it, he’d thought he’d be fine for the two minutes it took to piss. 

“Well, don’t worry about cleaning. I’ll clean it.”

“No! No, Sir—I’ll do it. I’ll do it. Okay? I can do it... I’ll be good.”

“You _are_ good,” Richie said, stroking Eddie’s sweat-soaked hair. Eddie was going to fucking kill him when he found out Richie’s hands weren’t clean. “You did so good, Angel. You don’t have to worry about cleaning up. Come on. Let me get you back in bed.” 

It was a struggle, mainly because Eddie’s arms and legs didn’t work at the moment, but he managed to get him to lay down again. Richie cleaned off his hands as best he could with another wet wipe since going back to wash his hands was out of the question and Eddie, when he came around, would be mortified if he found out Richie touched him after pissing without washing up first—as if touching his cock to piss versus touching his cock to fuck were somehow entirely different. After that, Richie grabbed the glass of water and coaxed Eddie into finishing it before tucking him under the blankets to warm up since he was shivering and his flesh was covered in goosebumps. 

He laid at Eddie’s side, rubbing his arms and his chest—trying to keep him calm and comforted while Eddie continued making these sad, confused little noises. It sounded a whole awful lot like he felt the need to go clean all their toys when what he _actually_ needed was to lay still and recover for a while. Richie told him praises, reassured him that he’d done well—that Richie was happy with him and that he hadn’t done anything wrong. Little by little, Eddie settled down and was able to roll onto his side to cuddle into Richie’s chest. His arms seemed to be working again, but Eddie was still a bit out of it. 

He stayed that way for maybe half an hour, then perked up and asked in the smallest voice if Richie would make him tea. 

“You want that sweet and spicy kind?” Richie asked, stroking Eddie’s hair and massaging his scalp as he did.

“Yeah,” Eddie answered, shuffling a little closer under the blanket. He stole a few kisses and seemed to come back to his senses a little more when Richie kissed him in return.

“Are you going to get upset if I leave to go make tea?” Richie asked.

“No...”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah.” Not the most convincing answer or tone, but Richie would accept it.

“Okay. I trust you,” Richie said, pressing one final kiss to Eddie’s forehead before crawling out of the bed. 

He made sure to flush the toilet before he forgot and Eddie inevitably found the mess and freaked out, then washed his hands properly before beginning to brew the tea. He kept an ear trained for the bedroom and called out whenever Eddie grew too loud, reminding him not to try getting up until he was sure his legs were fully recovered.

He stayed still and waited for Richie to bring him tea. Eddie started to sit up to drink it, then winced and shifted so he was propped up on his side—ass too sore to sit properly. It gave Richie a bit of a thrill, even underneath his concern. He was eager to see what kind of bruises, if any, his hand left. There had to be a few. He struck pretty hard in some places. Hopefully it lived up to Eddie’s standards.

They lay in bed together drinking tea, Eddie testing his limbs now and then until he was able to stand and make his way to the bathroom. His ass was still a pretty shade of scarlet as he made his way from the bedroom, and he had marks on his legs and wrists to match. Richie wasn’t a fan of sending Eddie to work with bruises in visible places, but he’d tried more than once to get Eddie to let him untie him. Eddie liked being bound. That’s all there was to it. If he liked it that much, he had to know the risks.

Not enough to keep him from collapsing out of the bed while in subspace, but enough to know he’d probably be wearing long sleeves in the LA heat for two weeks. 

“How are you feeling, Angel? A little better?” Richie asked as he took Eddie empty cup from him and set it aside on the nightstand by their toys—the ones Eddie hadn’t knocked onto the floor.

“Much… Yeah. Thanks for the...the tea,” Eddie said, smiling a little as he nestled closer into Richie’s side. 

“Just the tea?” Richie asked, pressing his cheek to the top of Eddie’s head, smiling to himself. 

“And for volunteering to clean up,” Eddie tacked on, his tone a little sly—like he didn’t think Richie was going to keep his word and clean their toys for him. 

“You know you’re just going to say I didn’t do it right and clean them twice, right?”

Eddie just shrugged and made himself more comfortable on Richie’s chest. “I probably should clean them,” he added after maybe another minute or two.

“Well, not right now.”

“They’re going to get gross. I really should...”

“I have no issues spanking you again. No,” Richie said, snuggling Eddie harder so he’d know it wasn’t a real threat.

“Please, no,” Eddie whined. 

“I take it that means I did a good job?”

“I was happy.”

“I _know._ You got pissed when I had to untie you.”

“Did I?” He actually sounded confused and started to shift around to sit up.

“I mean, sort of. With your legs. You didn’t want me to take them down.”

“I didn’t?” He looked puzzled, then had some flash of realization go through his eyes that left them wide. “Oh… Oh, I’m sorry. Shit. I—”

“It’s fine, Eddie. You like being tied up—”

“I shouldn’t _argue_ with you in a scene. That’s—that’s not how this works.”

“It wasn’t really an argument. You were just sulking,” Richie said, watching confused as more worry and distress crossed Eddie’s face. 

“I… I went into my headspace. I shouldn’t do that. I know better than that. Fuck.” It was mostly whispered harshly at himself, his eyes downcast and tracing the creases in the blanket on the bed. 

“It was fine. Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen? I mean—”

“No! No, that’s _not_ what’s supposed to happen! I can’t… I can’t believe this.” Eddie threw the blankets off his legs and grimaced as he started to get up from the bed.

“What are you doing? I told you—it’s fine!” 

“I… I should go. I’m gonna go.” Eddie wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t listen to him. He just started grabbing fresh clothes out of the closet and pulling them on like the building was on fire. 

“Eddie, you don’t have to go! I don’t want you to go. Come back. Lay down. Forget I said anything. I-I didn’t mind it. I just—I just thought it was cute. It was funny. You know? Eddie likes being tied up—he’s just proving it. That’s all I thought.” 

“I’m… I’m gonna wash these.” Eddie still wasn’t listening. He grabbed up the towel where their toys were piled and grabbed the whole thing to carry them all into the bathroom. 

“Eddie!” Richie threw off the blankets and tried to follow him, only to have the door shut in his face. What the fuck happened? “Eddie, what did I say?” Richie asked through the door. For now, he’d let Eddie have the privacy of the bathroom. He wouldn’t invade his space, but he still wanted answers. 

“Nothing. It’s… It’s fine. I’m just cleaning these. Okay? It’s fine.”

He didn’t sound fine. 

“Eddie, what’s wrong? It’s okay that you were in your head, you know? It’s—It’s part of the experience.”

“Well, it’s a fucking lousy part, okay!? I have more self-control than that!” 

Richie didn’t even know what to say to that outburst. Eddie sounded like he needed his inhaler, and though Richie could’ve gone and gotten it for him, used it as an excuse to get Eddie to open the door, he waited. 

“Why do you think it’s bad to go into _sub_ space while being a _submissive_ in a scene? That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

“Because subspace means sub _drop_ which is exactly what happened! I fucking… I know better, okay? This—This isn’t how I always am.”

Well, that wasn’t fucking true.

“I’d hardly call that a _drop._ You fell off the bed because your legs didn’t work. It wasn’t bad, Eddie. I didn’t care. I got you up and we were cuddling and it was fine. Why are you freaking out?”

“I can take care of myself! I am a _man!”_

Yeah, a man who was crying while washing butt plugs.

“I never said you weren’t? C’mon… I liked seeing you in your space. You’re… You’re _cute._ I could see it in your eyes, Eds. The minute you flipped the switch, I could see it and I _liked_ it. I like taking care of you. I just had to piss… And I’m sorry I did, because then this whole argument wouldn’t even be happening.”

Eddie didn’t answer him and the only sound from the bathroom was the rushing faucet as he cleaned the toys with quiet sniffling underneath. It had Richie completely baffled. Honestly, he’d been more upset when Eddie started freaking out on him when he turned away to grab a condom than he was him falling out of the bed after everything was over. And he wasn’t upset with _Eddie._

If anything, he was disappointed in himself for not keeping a better eye on him.

“Eds… Can we talk about this? I… I’m not disappointed in how things went. I had a good time… Are you okay in there?”

“I… I can do scenes without going into subspace, okay? I can.” 

“That’s...not what I asked,” Richie said, sighing heavily and leaning against the door. “Eddie… Why are you doing this? Do you think I’m lying to you? That I had a horrible time because you slipped off my tiny fuckin’ bed?”

Finally, the sink turned off and Eddie was opening the door. He looked exhausted and defeated. He needed to go lay down and drink more tea, but Richie doubted he’d go quietly. 

“It’s humiliating to act like that,” Eddie said, all stern faced despite his red-rimmed eyes.

“Isn’t that the point?” Richie asked, trying to appear as casual and non-threatening as possible. “Look, it’s a scene. Alright? That means it starts there, it ends there. I won’t go to work and think, ‘ugh, Eddie fell out of my bed on Friday night. How pathetic.’ Alright? I’ll go to work trying not to pop a boner if tonight crosses my mind. And next time I’ll know to piss beforehand so I don’t leave you alone.”

“Yeah, that’s just it,” Eddie argued. “You shouldn’t have to think twice about leaving me there. I should be able to keep myself under control—”

“You didn’t fuckin’ rip the bed apart or start punching holes in the wall, Eddie! You were under control. Your legs just didn’t work and you fell. You fuckin’ fell!”

“I would’ve known my legs didn’t work I weren’t—”

“I liked how you were spacey! I liked it. Next time I won’t leave you alone and you won’t get hurt. Okay? Stop… Stop trying to do whatever the hell it was Mark taught you and just do you.”

Eddie kept staring at him like he wanted to keep arguing, but he stayed silent. It was probably cruel to bring up Mark, but Eddie gave him no choice. The only person who would be pissed off at a sub not being one-hundred percent right after a scene was that asshole.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Rich. If you didn’t—”

“I’m not lying to you, Eddie! The only thing I haven’t enjoyed is this stupid argument we’re having. Now will you get to bed? I want more tea and I think your legs could still use more rest.”

Eddie stared at him, taking in a deep breath before rolling his eyes and heading back toward the bedroom, leaving all their toys laid out on a fresh towel to dry on the bathroom counter. Richie went to the kitchen to start the kettle and then went back to his room to collect their mugs. Eddie was laying face down on the bed, face completely hidden in the pillow.

Richie, for the moment, ignored him and focused only on preparing new cups of tea. He made Eddie peppermint tea this time and pressed a kiss to the back of Eddie’s head as he set the cup down on the nightstand. 

“I don’t know how you’re wearing sweatpants after I blistered your ass,” Richie said, climbing back into bed and under the covers.

“What, am I supposed to run around naked like you?” Eddie grumbled, lifting his head to peer over at his steaming cup of tea. 

“I mean, you wouldn’t catch me bitching about it if you did.”

That earned him a scoff as Eddie stretched to grab the mug and pull it back to him, breathing in the steam as it rose and curled around his face. Little by little, he seemed to calm down as he drank his tea and came to peace with the idea that Richie wasn’t angry at him or disappointed with him for anything. Richie still couldn’t comprehend why Eddie thought he would think less of him, but he was fine with leaving that as a discussion to be had another day. 

Eddie drank his tea, and then dozed of with his empty cup still cradled in his hands on the pillow where he’d buried his face. Richie sneakily took a picture of it (or ten) and then slowly pulled the cup from Eddie’s hands and set it aside so they could lay together without the cup cracking either of them in the head.

He got to shift Eddie closer to him and close his eyes, prepared for a much needed nap.

( ) ( ) ( )

Eddie kind of got to thinking that if Richie didn’t leave him after the humiliating display of subdrop (though the jury was still out on whether or not Richie would admit that was what it had been that left Eddie a heap on the floor of his bedroom), he was sure Richie would now. He’d found an apartment and his company was paying to move all of his personal effects across the country. Eddie had to fly all the way back to New York, almost at the drop of a hat, and watch strangers pack up his belongings—his tiny, sad life that he had built for himself, into boxes and onto pallets wrapped in plastic wrap. He watched it all get hoisted into a moving truck.

About a week later, Eddie was standing with Richie at his side in the brightly lit, carpeted hallway of his new condominium watching different strangers move his belongings into a space too large for them.

The ceilings were too high for his couch...it made it look like a sofa for dwarves. His sleek, modern dresser looked out of place in his master bedroom that faced his back patio and lawn and the sloping hill of trees beyond. 

An apartment just wouldn’t do it for him, Eddie had decided. He didn’t want to just rent something a live his life as a vagabond with nothing of his own besides a car. It was a quick process, but very thorough. He found what he wanted, exactly where he wanted it to be, and he’d been approved for a mortgage in no time at all. In fact, as his real estate agent had put it, he would’ve been approved for much, much more if he’d tried. 

More wasn’t what he needed though. He didn’t need a whole, huge house on its own land outside the city or some tiny suburban two-bedroom place with picture perfect neighbors. He wanted a condo. He wanted a place with a decent HOA and respectable, quiet, professional neighbors. It helped matters, too, that the director’s sister had once owned a condo on this very street. She said it was everything a newcomer could want and more.

It was a lovely place in need of better furniture. In need of some paint, for sure… Maybe some upgrades to the bathroom to make it safer and more accessible. It was perfect for Eddie…

But, for whatever reason, Richie stared at it like it was a UFO that had just crashed into his building’s parking lot. 

“You hate it?” Eddie asked, watching the men hurry past with his boxes. All were labeled and being carried to the respective rooms in the condo which forced Eddie to realize this two-story condo had more room than he needed. It was more room than he could fill.

“Hate it? No… No.”

“Then why are you staring like the walls are covered in shit?”

“Uh… Because I think I sometimes forget you’re loaded. Eddie, this place is like… It’s huge.”

“I’m not loaded. Not by a long shot. It’s a condo.” It was a very expensive condo, but Eddie wasn’t about to gloat. Richie lived like a pauper but Eddie had maybe picked through some of his mail left laying around and seen his bank statements. He had way more in the bank and in investments than he was admitting. His shabby little apartment was probably how he managed to save up the amounts he had in the bank, and that was by no means offensive to Eddie. Just because Richie had money didn’t mean he had to blow it on a mortgage when he wasn’t ready. 

In a way, it made Eddie feel a tiny bit of superiority to the other man. Richie may have a better grip on the world. He may be better at reading people and leading people, but Eddie was more mature. Eddie was successful in business and he enjoyed looking the part.

“Eddie, this is a _nice_ fuckin’ condo. You could fit four of my place in here. Jesus…”

“Well, I got a raise when my position was secured. And a bonus. I used the bonus as part of my down payment.”

“Shit! How much was your bonus?”

Eddie rolled his eyes and made his way back into the bedroom, grimacing at the sight of his bed, all put together by the window. So much sunlight was pouring in from the balcony and it’s large, spotless sliding glass door. No blinds… He needed to go to the store. The place was furnished now, yes, but not livable by any means. He still needed to do more research on the home defense system and make sure it was up to snuff.

“This is fancy, Eds. And it’s an end unit. You struck gold.”

“I wouldn’t settle for anything other than an end unit. I don’t like sharing bedroom walls with neighbors. I never get any sleep.”

“You mean the neighbors never get any sleep,” Richie said, looking at him with a wild smirk that had Eddie rolling his eyes. “We’ve gotta break this place in.”

“Not until I get curtains!” Eddie snapped, keeping his voice low and harsh so the movers wouldn’t overhear. 

“Oh, come on. You know you’re an exhibitionist at heart.”

“In certain settings, that may be true. But not where I have to look the people in the eye when I’m going outside to get my paper!”

“Just wink at ‘em. If they didn’t want to see it, they wouldn’t be looking.”

“You are literally the worst.”

“And yet you’re still sleeping with me. Imagine that.”

Eddie rolled his eyes again as Richie made his way over to the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the balcony. Eddie would’ve left him to it, considering the thought of just locking him out there for a while, if Richie didn’t immediately bend himself over the railing as far as he could as if trying to test the strength of the metal rail.

“Hey! Hey, don’t do that!” Eddie shouted, hurrying out to the balcony and grabbing Richie hard by the back of his shirt. He pulled him so hard that Richie’s glasses fell askew on his face. The jerk was lucky they didn’t fall off onto the patio underneath and break.

“Jesus! I wasn’t going to jump.”

“You could fall! I need another inspection to make sure this is safe!” Eddie shouted, gesturing to the balcony.

“Uh… Considering I just put all my weight on it and I’m still here, I think it’s good. Calm down.” He was smiling like he hadn’t a care in the world—like he hadn’t just risked his life for no good reason.

“I’ll calm down when you quit trying to kill yourself on my move-in day!”

“Oh, my God. You need to calm down. Where’s your kettle at? Is it in a box in the kitchen? I’ll make you some tea.”

“I don’t _want_ tea. I want you to stop acting like a little kid.”

“Make me.”

It was the most infuriating thing and Eddie wanted to strangle him. As if the stress of moving wasn’t great enough, Richie had to add his own brand of fuel to the fire. 

At least he did make himself useful after the movers left. He started unpacking the kitchen boxes while Eddie worked on setting up his bedroom. Eddie was, in fact, brought a cup of tea—but it came with the reminder that he did need to eat at some point tonight. 

This led to Richie sitting on Eddie’s made bed, scrolling through restaurants on his phone while Eddie ironed his clothes as he took them out of the box to be hung in his walk-in closet. He ordered take-out for them, somehow picking an item off the menu that Eddie could eat that he actually found himself wanting… It was so strange to have his annoyance at hearing Richie’d picked his food for him turn to delight when the option was actually _safe_ for him and _good._

He thought about that longer than he should have as he finished ironing while Richie was off picking up their order. Richie remembered all of his allergies. He never even slipped up any more with the accidental nut-milk alternative to dairy or soy-based products. He stopped asking if every little thing had gluten in it…

If he was in doubt, he asked, but it seemed like he just understood everything. He listened. That was what it was. Something Mark had never really cared to do, something Ben tried to do but couldn’t commit to focusing on. Ben was just a good friend, though, so maybe it wasn’t his concern if Eddie was allergic to shellfish or not, if barley was gluten-free or not. Richie would know. Richie paid attention like it was his life on the line if Eddie ate something he wasn’t supposed to. 

Did their relationship really mean that much to him? Like it was life or death?

The thought had Eddie reaching for his inhaler. 

Downstairs, Richie had all of Eddie’s dishes in the dishwasher being cleaned after so many strangers had touched them. The little hand washing rack was next to the sink with some mugs and cups and utensils—mostly what they needed to make tea—sitting in it. The cloth he’d used to clean them draped over the metal divider in the center of the sink to dry. Neat and tidy how Eddie would’ve done it himself.

 _He’s in love with me..._ He thought it as though it were some new revelation. As if he didn’t already know that—like Richie hadn’t let it slip more than once.

In his pocket, Eddie’s phone gave a small buzz indicating a text or an email. 

It was a text from Richie who had just gotten their food and was on his way back. 

Eddie set the table in the dining room—a table way too small for this large of a space—and then sat down at it and stared at the napkins and silverware. All of his plates were still drying in the dishwasher… 

He needed to buy a washer and dryer. He needed a bigger table and more chairs—for looks, not actual guests. No one would really visit him here, he didn’t think, but a large table with only two chairs would look foolish. Bigger couch, an accent chair maybe… New headboard. New bed all together. Better dressers… Eddie was still forming his mental list when Richie came to the door and knocked to be let in.

Eddie needed to give him the spare key… 

The thought both warmed him and chilled him to the bone. This was his _home_ now and he was preparing to just hand it all over to some other guy. If _Mark_ had had a key to Eddie’s apartment, he would’ve killed him a long time ago. Why was Richie any different? 

“Hey, there’s a really cool smoothie place right next to this joint,” Richie said as he slipped past Eddie into the condo. “I took a peek at the menu while I was waiting for our food. They’ve got it all broken down into ‘sweet’ and ‘not-so-sweet.’ I think you might like them.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Are you alright?” Richie asked, passing Eddie a small smile as he set down their bag of food on the counter. 

“Yeah. Just… Tired, I guess. Moving is...stressful.” Eddie couldn’t even put into words the actual reason he was so exhausted. 

“Ugh, tell me about it. I carried this bag up exactly _four_ stairs to get here. Four! Hardest work I’ve done all day,” Richie said, chuckling at his own joke. “I’ll tell you what, this is probably the easiest I’ve ever had it when someone’s asked me to help them move. God, Beverly the one time...I swear to you I carried her dresser up two flights of stairs by myself. No way she was holding onto it.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Eddie said, shaking his head as he examined their containers of food. The dishwasher had finished its cycle but both he and Richie stared at it as it gave it’s loud chime and then looked to each other. 

“Box is fine for me,” he said, shrugging.

“Yeah.” Eddie grabbed his container and carried it with him to the table in his dining room. He felt more and more disgusted by the sight of it each time he looked at it. Too small for the space… Richie, though, didn’t seem to care. He set down his food, then the appetizer he’d gotten for them, then went back to fill a couple of glasses with filtered water from the fridge. 

“You sure you’re alright?” Richie asked as he settled down in front of his food.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because in the last ten minutes you’ve hardly said anything other than ‘yeah.’ What’s wrong, Eds?”

“Why does me saying ‘yeah’ mean something’s _wrong?”_ Eddie argued.

“Because usually you’d be running over some kind of itinerary or something—making a to do list or something.”

“I told you; I’m tired.”

“Alright, alright.” They ate in near complete silence, something unusual for Richie. He was probably upset that Eddie had gone out and purchased a condo without even mentioning being on the hunt. It just… It just all worked out. Eddie didn’t expect it to go so quickly. 

“I… I didn’t know the owner would move so fast, okay? He accepted my first offer.”

“No shit?” Richie asked, looking surprised. 

“Yeah! I mean, I don’t like to play negotiation games. It’s an insult to a man if you offer him less than what a property’s worth. I just looked at the numbers and...what I offered seemed right.”

“Must’ve been!”

“One of the guys at work, his uncle is an inspector. Would you believe it?” Eddie asked.

“I’m glad it all worked out for you. That’s awesome luck.”

Richie smiled at him as he shoved another bite of food into his mouth. He looked too large to be seated at Eddie’s small table… He needed a new dining room table. Eddie couldn’t bear to see Richie so hunched over to eat. 

“Can you straighten up?”

“Uh… Is that how you tell me you want to break up? You want me to straighten up?” Richie asked, smirking. 

“No. Your bad posture’s making me lose my appetite.” 

Richie chuckled, but thankfully did listen and straighten his spine. It looked so unnatural for him to sit at such a small, short table. 

New table, new chairs, washer and dryer, dressers, bed frame, bed… So much stuff he needed to buy. If only finding the right furniture was as easy as finding the right home. 

They ate their meal and then sat together on the couch, looking at the television which seemed so out of place on the too-small entertainment center. He needed bigger _stuff._

“This is a really nice place, Eddie… You should be proud of it.”

“Hm?” Eddie looked over at him, checking his face for signs of deception. He was expecting Richie to at least be a little upset with him. At least a little angry or hurt… Eddie would’ve been devastated if Richie suddenly told him he was moving. Though he guessed that might be a little different since Eddie had been living in an extended stay hotel the last few months and Richie had his own apartment that he leased. Eddie’s situation was never meant to be a permanent place of residence.

“I said you should be proud of it, Angel.” He was still smiling, then had leaned over to kiss him on the forehead.

“It still needs a lot of work.”

“It’s great,” Richie said, shrugging and still smiling.

“I know it was all kind of...sudden,” Eddie confessed.

“Was it? I mean, you’ve been out here for months. I figured you were looking for a place. A guy like you? I knew it wasn’t going to be easy for you to pick a spot. How long were you searching?” 

He had no idea… The dumb asshole had no fucking clue that Eddie had settled on a place as fast as he had. The dumb fucking bastard!

“A while,” Eddie said, adjusting himself in his seat so he was leaning more closely into Richie’s side. A little white lie, Eddie thought, couldn’t possibly hurt them. 

“Are you wanting to stay here tonight?”

“No,” Eddie said, shaking his head quickly. “No, it’s not quite… It’s not ready yet.”

“I can stay,” Richie offered.

“No—No, that’s not it. I just… It’s not ready yet.”

“M’kay. Well, it’s a bit of a drive so if you’re wanting to keep your bedtime, we should probably get going.”

“Okay,” Eddie said, leaning up to kiss him. Richie smiled and kissed him back, and hand coming to hold one of Eddie’s so his thumb could trace the faint bruises still left from the bindings. They hadn’t ever really gotten the chance to fade after their scene—and Eddie preferred it that way. He felt the twinge of soft pain as Richie pressed down with the smallest pressure and smiled into their kiss. 

“I still think we should christen the place,” Richie mumbled.

“It’s not ready yet,” Eddie said, matter-of-fact. Richie just chuckled at him and kissed him one more time before slapping him on the thigh and telling him to get up. They held hands on the drive back to Richie’s apartment and cuddled together on his couch a while sipping Sleepy Time tea. After that, they were just laying together in bed—cozy and warm. 

“’S funny,” Richie whispered.

“Hm?”

“You buy this big ol’ condo...and want to spend the first night owning it here instead.”

“It’s not ready,” Eddie said, for what felt like the thousandth time.

“Mm-hmm.” Richie chuckled and pulled Eddie closer to his chest under the blankets. 

“What are you trying to say?” Eddie asked.

“Nothing. Just… You bought this big condo all for yourself and you’re sharing a bed here with me...”

“So? And...?”

“You’re home...with me.” He laughed, this happy little sound in between a giggle and sigh and Eddie rolled his eyes. 

“The condo just isn’t ready… And I like sleeping here, but it’s your home. Not mine.” His heart started beating a little faster, with something like fear and yet something like joy. 

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“The bathtub doesn’t even have no-slip adhesives—”

“Oh! The bathtub doesn’t have adhesives. Okay, Eds.”

“It _doesn’t.”_

“Eddie… Can you just do something for me? Just a little something?”

“What?” Eddie snapped. 

“Just admit you like it here with me.”

“You know I do,” Eddie said. “What’s your point—”

“Just say you love me. Just try it. Just a second. Just to see how it feels.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, his heart still racing with that peculiar mix of fear and joy. Hadn’t he already told Richie what he felt? He had, right? 

“I love you. You already know that! Of course I love you.” He spoke it with all the venom he would’ve had if Richie had called him a liar or a loser or a jerk. 

“Mm. But it feels nice to hear you say it.” He sounded so fucking smug and happy. 

Eddie hated him. As surely as he loved him, he hated Richie Tozier’s guts.


	23. Chapter 23

Richie was a man living his days and nights on cloud nine. Eddie loved him. He’d known for a while, but he got him to say it—actually say it!—and twice at that in one occurrence. He was no stranger to the ins and outs of complicated relationships and why people had reservations about slapping labels on feelings and jumping into everything with both feet. He’d done it with Eddie, but that didn’t mean Eddie didn’t have a right to take things slow and really think things over. 

He wouldn’t lie, though. When Eddie sprung the condo on him, Richie was nervous. It came so out of left field, out of nowhere. It was as though Eddie had gone and picked a place out overnight. He hardly even discussed ever looking for a place. Richie had kind of started to think that Eddie was going to ask to move into his apartment with him when his company stopped paying for his extended stay hotel. It would’ve been a huge fucking step, but Richie found himself feeling oddly nervous and hopeful that it would happen.

So when Eddie popped up asking if Richie would help him to move into his new condominium with not so much as an “I’ve been signing paperwork” text to preface the existence of said condo, Richie was shaken to his core. Had he been planning to buy the place and never tell Richie about it? Ghost him like his ex had with no explanation? 

And then Eddie hadn’t even wanted to spend the night in his new home, even after everything for the bedroom was unboxed and set up. He wanted to go to Richie’s place…

It was such a strange whiplash that it had Richie kind of nervous and confused, but he loved it. Eddie bought a whole _huge,_ fucking _huge_ condo, but he wanted to be at Richie’s tiny, shitty apartment all the time anyway. All of Richie’s doubts and fears about their relationship taking a nosedive because Eddie no longer needed a place to crash that wasn’t a hotel packed full of strangers went right out the window. Yeah, it was a little weird he didn’t want to spend at least _some_ time in his new, shiny condo, but Richie would take what he could get. 

Eddie was a strange, particular man. It only stood to reason that he wouldn’t want to move into a place until it fit all of his strange, particular tastes to the T.

And, yeah, it helped calm him a bit whenever Eddie would mention little things like “it’ll be nice when we can do this in my kitchen; it’s a lot bigger,” while making dinner together. He wasn’t hiding out at Richie’s apartment until his condo was ‘livable’ enough for him to duck out and banish Richie to the tiny apartment with new cracks in its walls seemingly every day. 

Richie was like a man in a dream—somewhat aware that things were too good to be true, but enjoying it to the fullest anyway. At least until he was enjoying his pseduo week off work, the last “vacation” he would have until his tour plans started gearing up into full speed ahead, when Eddie sent him the loaded text:

_You’re off work right? Will you go furniture shopping with me today?_

Richie didn’t realize that _Eddie_ was off work because he’d left the apartment first thing in the morning in a nice suit like always. It was a Tuesday. Where did he go in a suit on a Tuesday for him to be texting Richie at ten-thirty asking to go furniture shopping?

_When you’re off work?_

_Eds: I am off today. Is that a yes?_

_Why were you sneaking out of bed and getting all dressed up if you’re off work? Did you FORGET?_ It would be just like that adorable workaholic to forget he had the day off. 

_Eds: I did not forget. I went to an estate sale. I have a new bedroom set and China hutch. I need to get the rest._

Eddie already _had_ a bedroom set… He had a bedroom set and an entertainment center and coffee table—he had all the furniture he needed. Unless some of it got damaged in the move… That was a possibility. Or maybe he meant for the guest bedroom...or two. That would make sense, too. 

_I mean sure. I can come with but I have terrible taste.  
Been skipping the pineapple if you know what I mean._

Eddie, being Eddie, ignored the joke and told Richie to meet him at some coffee shop in an hour, then got huffy when he learned Richie wasn’t yet out of bed. In not time at all, Richie was shaved and showered and ready to go aside from being naked—not sure what to wear since Eddie was in a fancy-ass suit going estate sale hopping. He wasn’t about to put on his impressive, designer suit he wore for the stage, but he wasn’t going to be an asshole and show up in a Hawaiian shirt and have Eddie get embarrassed and tell him to leave. 

So Richie landed on a nice pair of dark gray trousers and a pale lavender button-up that he wore untucked with the sleeves folded up to the middle of his forearms. It wasn’t like him to look formal if he didn’t have to, and his hope was that the nice fabric would show off that he did, in fact, have money despite how he looked. (He also hoped the purple shirt would get a rise out of Eddie and lean into the gay men furniture shopping image he had playing out in his head.) 

Richie got himself dressed and put on his nice watch, then ordered an Uber to take him to meet up with Eddie since he was pretty sure the other man was driving around and he didn’t feel like leaving his Mustang in a parking deck when he didn’t have to. By the time he got to Eddie, the other man was basically fuming and chomping at the bit, angry about being delayed like it was somehow Richie’s fault that Eddie had impulsively decided to invite him and that it threw off his schedule. 

Richie let him vent as they waited in line for coffee, and as soon as the man had a sip of his dark roast coffee with coconut creamer, he chilled the fuck out like an alcoholic who got his first nip of the day. 

“That’s a nice shirt… Why haven’t I seen you in this one before?” Eddie asked, plucking at Richie’s sleeve and feeling the fabric between his fingertips. Called it. Richie fucking called it.

“I’m pretty sure you have.”

“Hm… Well, I don’t remember. It looks nice. I’m not going to lie, I was kind of freaking out here waiting for you. I was like, ‘oh, no… I didn’t tell him where we’d be going. He’s going to show up—’”

“What? Looking like trash?” Richie asked, smirking at Eddie over his cup of coffee. 

“No,” Eddie said, eyes wide because that was _exactly_ what he’d been thinking. “Just… Look, I dress down at home, too. Okay? You’ve seen me.”

“Yeah, in your designer sweatpants and Calvin Klein t-shirts.”

“My t-shirts aren’t Calvin Klein. Why are you obsessed with Calvin Klein?”

“I like _Back to the Future._ Sue me.” 

They nagged at each other while Eddie led Richie down the street to some furniture store that was destined to be way over-priced for what you ended up ordering. IKEA would be better, but he doubted Eddie would think so. He’d probably pitch a fit if Richie even suggested it. He was a man of taste, after all. 

Richie rolled his eyes as he thought it upon entering the shop. Waste of money for all this crap…

“So, I need a living room set. I… I just can’t keep what I have now. It’s all too small for the place, you know? It’s like...dollhouse furniture. It’s like I have _children’s_ furniture in my living room.”

“Well that’s a disgrace,” Richie said, looking around at all the dark, brooding furniture. “This place looks like a funeral home.”

“You don’t like it?” Eddie asked, sounding shocked that this weird, Gothic-revival looking shit wasn’t Richie’s style. 

“It looks like it’s trying too hard to be antique...”

“Well, this isn’t what I came in for,” Eddie said, gesturing to the wardrobes and bed sets speckling the front area. “There’s more somewhere… I saw it on their website.”

So Eddie led him through the store toward a more spacious section in the back that looked a lot more sleek and modern—a lot more Eddie’s style. It was better lit in that section, showing off the shine and gleam of glass and stainless steel. Eddie was more invested in the process than Richie (as he should be since it was his house he was furnishing after all), but he kept trying to get Richie more engaged. 

That… That was the first flag. Richie wouldn’t call it a red flag since he didn’t exactly see Eddie wanting his opinion as a bad thing. Yellow flag also made it seem cautionary… Maybe a bright, neon-green flag that was almost painful to look at kind of florescent. 

He’s not buying furniture for himself, Richie realized. And once the thought struck him, he couldn’t exactly get away from it. He sipped his coffee and kept his opinions to a minimum, feeding into any excitement Eddie showed toward a shelf or a table in hopes the man would pick something _he_ liked, not what Richie liked. 

Richie was flattered, but he wasn’t going to furnish _Eddie’s_ condo to his own taste.

Eddie fussed and fussed and fussed about the entertainment centers—none of which looked decent in this shop—and settled only on a set of glass and stainless steel end tables and coffee table. He haggled and got himself a good fifteen percent off and scheduled a day to have the furniture delivered, then looked at Richie and smiled as if waiting for a compliment. 

It was like that at every...single...store. 

At the next shop, Eddie picked out a very nice, very sleek black suede couch and chair set (that was the first and only thing he picked for himself and did not _want_ Richie’s opinion on) and a floor rug to tie the living room together. From there, he located a different store looking for dining room furniture. He needed something to match the hutch he’d bought and kept insisting that Richie help him more with deciding. The hutch, which Richie expected to be the sort of dark and drab furniture he’d seen at the first shop of the day, was in fact painted a bright, shiny white with pretty, crystal handles and etched glass. It was antique, sure, but repainted and up-styled to make it more cottage chic than anything (if Richie had to guess; he was learning some terminology while shopping but not much). He was kind of joking when he suggested it, but Eddie ended up with a white dining room table. Pure white, just like the hutch, with white chairs.

“Blue, I think,” Eddie kept saying. “I think _blue_ would bring that room together. What about you? Do you like that? Is that stupid?”

“Blue sounds amazing...” Richie said, shrugging nervously because he didn’t know what else to do. He _wasn’t_ going to let Eddie furnish his condo around his own tastes. It was _Eddie’s_ condo. It was _Eddie’s_ home. He needed to accept that and stop trying to manipulate Richie into picking out the furniture for him, for whatever reason he had for doing so. Richie wasn’t positive that Eddie was recreating the environment he lived in with Mark—always needing that man’s or someone else’s approval in general. He also wasn’t positive that Eddie just brought him along for a second opinion and companionship. 

“Can you… I know it’s weird, but can you just sit at the table? Rich? Please? Before I sign anything...” Eddie was standing there with the saleswoman and her clipboard, looking at him and then at the table expectantly. The table in the show room was brown, while the one they were ordering was the bright white shown on the available color swatches, same with all the chairs.

“Uh… Sure? I mean… It’s a table.” Richie started to sit down only to be reprimanded for trying to sit in the _wrong_ chair and not the one they were ordering. _Eddie_ was ordering, not _they._ Jesus, this was getting to him. So he sat in the right chair this time and Eddie stared at him in this weird, cold, analytical way and then smiled and signed the document like the absurdity that had just happened never did. “Can I ask?” Richie said, eyeing Eddie as he stood up from the table once all the details were worked out.

“What?” Eddie asked, his phone in his hand as he typed the delivery date into his calendar.

“Why I need to sit at the table? Were you afraid I’d go running off or something?”

“What? Oh… No. The table I have now, just...” Eddie was still looking down at his phone as he heaved a large sigh. “You’re not a petite man, Richie. My table looks like children’s furniture when you sit at it. I wanted to make sure it was...proportionate.”

“I mean, it was a table for a small, New York apartment.”

“Exactly… And this is a big...California condo. So...I needed to be sure.”

“You could sit at the table, too, Eds,” Richie offered, eyeing the other man who looked like a kid caught in a lie. 

“Well, I can’t see myself sitting at the table and it’s stupid to have me sit there and then take pictures of me so I can see myself.”

“I didn’t have to sit on the couch...”

“The couch is huge, Rich. And you did sit on it.” And he had, to test the cushions and because he was fucking tired of walking around all these stores. 

They got lunch at a nice cafe and smoothie place, Eddie in good spirits while Richie was sad to say his mood was a bit dampened, though he was trying to hide it. He texted Beverly while Eddie stepped away to take a phone call from work, in between whining to her and venting.

_Bev: He just wants your opinion. What’s the matter with that?_

_Because I think he’s going to ask me to move in with him._

_Bev: A little cart before the horse… He finally told you he loved you a week ago. Do you really think he wants to move that fast?_

She had a point, and a good one, but Richie was still on edge.

_He wants to see how I look next to things. It’s like he’s building the perfect house around me. Like it’s all for me or something. I don’t know how to explain it. You’d have to be here to see._

_Bev: Well you are tall._

_I don’t know. He keeps mentioning that his furniture from NY looks like dollhouse furniture in the condo and I feel like I’m the fucking doll he wants to put in it or something._

_Bev: ….. You waited this long to get cold feet._

Her comment struck him, and he was about to type back something aggressive to her but Eddie was on his way back to the table looking exhausted but happy—until he saw the expression on Richie’s face.

“Everything okay?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Just some work shit, too. I can’t escape either.” Richie forced a smile while Beverly’s words churned over and over in the back of his head.

Was that was he was doing? Getting cold feet? Eddie wanted his opinion, Eddie wanted to make sure all the stuff he bought fit with Richie because Richie was important to him… It just felt _odd_ to him. It was Eddie’s condo. If Richie went out to replace his couch, he wouldn’t drag Eddie along to help pick it out. He’d just buy himself a couch...because it was _his_ apartment.

“I was thinking one more store for that entertainment center and then maybe we can look at some floor rugs.”

“Sure,” Richie answered.

“Are you sure everything’s okay? If you’re tired, we can stop. I just… I wanted to get it over with.”

“Like ripping off a band-aid, huh?” Richie asked, forcing a smile that Eddie wasn’t buying.

“I don’t… Did I do something? You look upset.”

“No. Not upset. No… I just need more caffeine. You got me up at, like, four a.m. Richie Time.”

Eddie scoffed, but still looked unconvinced. 

“I know this...this was kind of sudden. I just hate looking at how empty the condo is, you know? It’s empty. All this space with nothing in it. I’m trying to make it feel more like a home so I’m not invading your apartment twenty-four seven. I know we both need alone time and I’ve made that hard… I just go crazy sitting in there looking at all the space.”

“No, that makes sense. It does,” Richie said, nodding. He felt relief and almost immediately felt guilty for it. He was rushing it because he wanted to give Richie his space—and if he recognized that Richie needed space to create, to decompress as pressure for his tour started to mount, he had to know it wasn’t time to go asking Richie to forgo his lease and move in with him on a whim.

“I hated seeing you at my table… It was so small. I just want to make sure that…” Eddie took a breath and stared down at his half-eaten salad. “I feel at home in your apartment. I do… I want my place to be like that for you, too. I want you to like being there...”

“Doesn’t mean you have to buy everything I like,” Richie said, enjoying it a little more when Eddie’s brow furrowed in disgust.

“You have _horrible_ taste!”

“I warned you!”

“I haven’t settled on anything I didn’t _love_ for _my_ condo.”

Oh, thank fuck.

“The only thing I want you picking out is a recliner for you.”

“A...recliner?” Richie asked.

“Well, yeah. If you’re visiting, I don’t want you sitting in mine. I’m keeping mine, by the way. It matches the new couch.”

“I think I can agree to pick a recliner…” He could. That wasn’t too big of a thing. He could pay for it himself, too, and move it right the fuck out of they broke up. He could do that. Sure. 

“So entertainment center, recliners maybe, and then some floor rugs. I just really want to get them taken care of.”

“What about adhesives for your bathtub?” Richie asked.

“I already went to the hardware store,” Eddie said, waving his hand dismissively. 

“Wow… I feel so excluded from this whole homemaking process now. You got bathtub adhesives without even asking me…”

“They’re the same ones I had in New York,” Eddie retorted. 

“I hated those.”

“When were you in my shower?” Eddie asked, face scrunching up as he struggled to remember—like he’d forgotten all the times Richie had slept over and used his shower. 

Richie felt more relaxed after that talk at the cafe and was able to be a little more focused and useful while Eddie pondered over an entertainment center as though he _had_ to decide today or the world would end. He found one that was boxy and black and modern, kind of like his new couch, and settled on it. Then they were looking at floor rugs. Richie had to admit, the white, gray, and blue one Eddie decided on for the dining room did seem like it would go nice with the hutch and his new table. As for the rest, Richie didn’t have much of an opinion. He wasn’t an interior decorator, he didn’t know anything about furniture. He just knew what was comfortable and affordable… Still, it was (now that he was done panicking) nice to be considered in the selection process. His input really didn’t change much of anything, he realized, and Eddie seemed to enjoy Richie’s company and commentary more than anything.

In fact, it had Richie feeling guilty for having been so negative the first half of their day together. For Eddie, this all just seemed like a natural part of the process. He couldn’t change his own tire without the moral support, Richie remembered. He probably wanted moral support while making these big decisions, too. (He didn’t need any support when picking out and buying the condo, but what the fuck did Richie know. Eddie was a strange and particular man…)

And so, Richie settled into his role as cheerleader—coaxing Eddie into committing to rugs and curtains and curtain rods. He encouraged Eddie to keep up the momentum and shop for knickknacks, too. Decorative candlesticks, table runners, coasters, vases and floor vases and fake plants. Eddie’s car was crammed full of shit and he was smiling like an idiot as he made his way back to the condo with Richie in his passenger seat, holding a silver, porcelain vase between his knees on the floor so it wouldn’t break in the chaos that was the backseat and trunk. 

“I can order us something to eat,” Eddie said as he and Richie were making one of their many trips back and forth from the garage into the condo to stack up Eddie’s new goods. 

“That sounds amazing right about now. All this work has me starving.”

It was worth it, though, to be this tired and hungry. Eddie looked happy as he busied himself with all of his bags and goodies—organizing them on the kitchen counter and floor. He was separating them based on what went in which room. Richie wondered how much it was bothering him that none of his new furniture was here yet. 

Eddie sorted his things, put them in the rooms they were destined to be, all the while working out restaurant ideas with Richie who ended up being the one who placed the order because Eddie kept getting distracted. It was cute though, watching him tuck his new things away and prattle on about what he wanted the different rooms to look like. 

He was still going on about all things he’d seen—what he liked and didn’t like—as they sat together on the couch and ate while watching TV. There was nothing wrong with his entertainment center or his couch or any of his other furniture that made it deserving of being replacement—and doing so as soon as his company paid all that money to move him seemed like a really big dick move, but Richie kept his mouth shut except to agree with Eddie and smile. 

Some things were better left unsaid.

( ) ( ) ( )

Eddie was a little nervous—okay, okay. He was a _lot_ nervous. His furniture was in, his condo was in order...Richie was coming over. Coming over to stay the night for the first time since Eddie had bought the place. They’d picked out so much together, including the new mattress that was on his new bed from the estate sale. It was big and gorgeous and everything Eddie could have ever dreamed of. Solid, sturdy, with decorative head and baseboards that were shaped perfectly for, er...Eddie’s less than traditional bedroom activities. 

He’d bought some new gear as well, to go along with the new bed… To go along with his intended housewarming celebration. (Richie’s phrasing, not his. Eddie didn’t see the point in having a housewarming with just two people and so long after he’d technically moved in.) Richie didn’t know about the gear—the harness or the cuffs—but he probably knew he was going to get laid when Eddie invited him to sleep over.

They hadn’t really discussed another scene. They hadn’t really done much of anything together besides lazy fucking whenever one or the other of them felt inclined—usually before Eddie left the bed for good in the morning or right after one of them came home from work. Even so, Eddie knew the clock was ticking.

Tour… Richie was going to be going on a tour. He didn’t know how it had snuck up on him so fast, but Eddie just didn’t feel ready for Richie to be gone. Surely he’d mentioned it once or twice...maybe more when Eddie wasn’t really listening, but it felt so out of left field. He guessed that was karma for him buying the condo without ever discussing it. Whenever he mentioned how unexpected it was, Richie just reminded him that he had been in New York to get ideas for material for this very same tour when they first met. He, of course, made sure Eddie knew he didn’t blame him for forgetting considering how long ago that had been and how much had happened to him since, but it made Eddie feel no better.

Richie was going to be leaving him here in LA all alone… Eddie couldn’t possibly go with him. It sucked and he hated it and he wanted to stomp his feet and throw his arms around like a toddler in anger any time Richie brought it up. 

All he could do, though, was give Richie something to think about—to look forward to coming home to—while he was out on the road. Sixteen weeks with breaks every four… It was a nice way of saying Eddie would see him maybe once a month for a day or two for _months._

They were just getting started and now it felt like it was all about to unravel. 

Eddie couldn’t let that happen. It probably would anyway, but he had to at least _try._

So he had the idea that he would invite Richie over, that he’d take initiative—make it a surprise, in a way. Hopefully Richie would play along or be excited. Hopefully he wouldn’t say not tonight or that he wasn’t in the mood to do anything like that without a proper discussion first. If he didn’t want to play with any of the toys Eddie bought, they could just use the ropes and the harness, right? 

He was anxious… He was nervous and worried and anxious to the point that he wanted to take one of his pills, but he knew that would just kill his sex drive and make his plans completely impossible. Richie wasn’t Mark. He wasn’t going to fuck him if Eddie couldn’t get hard and get off, too. He had to be brave. It was Richie… It was just Richie. 

Eddie had water for tea heating the in kettle when Richie arrived. Richie complimented everything, making jokes here and there while Eddie tried to get him to decide on salmon on chicken for dinner. They were going to cook together in his kitchen, maybe have a glass of wine each as they ate in the dining room, then get cozy on the couch before Eddie offered to take him upstairs. 

That was the plan, at least, if Eddie could get him focused.

“Which tea do you want? I some—hey! Which tea do you want? Rich… Rich! Which tea do you want? I’ve got the usual and then this new kind. It’s a Chinese black tea. They go through this whole process where they smoke the leaves—are you listening?” 

“Yeah, I’m listening,” Richie said, but his head was inside Eddie’s refrigerator. 

“So which one do you want?”

“Uh… The black one. Whichever. Your call, Babe.”

“Well, if that’s the case then what do you want to eat? Because if we do the salmon, the black tea would really—”

“Salmon is good. You know I’m not picky.” Richie finally came out of the refrigerator and fixed him with a lazy smile. “I saw you had some rose in there.”

“Well, rose is good with fish so...”

“So what you mean to tell me is, you wanted the fish from the get go.”

Eddie glowered at him and refused to make a definitive statement.

“Aw, are you trying to recreate our first date?”

“Excuse me!?”

“You are! Aw, Eds.”

“What the fuck are you talking about!?”

“At Beverly’s? Remember? I guess that was more her and Ben’s first date. We made salmon? We made out a little bit?”

“I wouldn’t call that making out,” Eddie said, face burning hot at the memory. It hadn’t consciously been his intention to recreate that meal, but it matched what he had in his fridge… Minus the truffles Richie had bought for him back then from CiCi’s. He really missed those. 

“Whatever. Salmon it is.” 

They stood close together as they worked in the massive kitchen, Richie taking care of the rice and chopping the vegetables while Eddie focused on prepping and seasoning the fish. Richie insisted on pretending they were on a cooking show, playing the part of a British chef who hollered at Eddie any chance he got. Gordon Ramsay, maybe? Eddie didn’t know, but it was annoying as fuck. 

He was nearly at his wits end by the time their plates hit the nice, decorative blue place mats on the white dining table. It was probably in bad form, but Eddie knocked back his first glass of wine before he really even tasted his salmon. He needed it, he told himself, to put up with Richie.

Richie who seemed to be in the best mood ever. It was charming, even underneath the annoyance Eddie felt, and he found himself staring at Richie’s blue eyes while the man put on voices and told stories about what happened a week or so ago in the writers’ room at work. Eddie took forkful after forkful of food into his mouth, tasting it only long enough to acknowledge that they’d done a good job, but otherwise was fully focused on Richie. Not what he was saying (dear, God, no—he’d go insane) but just how he looked, how expressive he was as he told his stories. Every now and then, Eddie would catch Richie looking at him in much the same way—usually as he paused a story for a bite to eat or a sip of wine—ad it had him melting all over again. 

It wasn’t like him to feel this mushy. It wasn’t like Eddie to be this open and vulnerable, even with himself. But there was no denying it now. He had Richie within arm’s reach and he never wanted him out of his sight again. At least, not longer than a day or two at most… How was he going to handle Richie going on a _tour?_

“Is this the part where I say, ‘Take a picture; it’ll last longer?’” Richie said, calling Eddie out of his vast ocean of thoughts.

“Huh?”

_“Huh?_ I said take a picture and it’ll last longer. What’s going on, Eds? You’ve been staring at me for, like, five minutes.”

“You’ve got broccoli in your teeth, for starters,” Eddie said, looking away at his new hutch which really _did_ bring the room together. His new home was so perfect… It was everything he’d ever dreamed of. 

“Shit. You wanna scoot over here and help me out with that?” Richie leaned forward at the table and Eddie reflexively jerked back, repulsed even at the idea behind the joke—or what had _better_ be a joke. Richie busted out laughing and balled up his cloth napkin (also blue and white, to match the room) and stood from his chair. “Alright, alright. I’ve got my toiletry bag upstairs. I’ll go brush my teeth. Don’t have an anuerysm.”

While he was upstairs brushing his teeth, Eddie quickly cleared away their plates and rinsed them off in the sink before setting them into the dishwasher to be cleaned later. He gave the table a quick spritz with some cleaner and wiped it up, then rinsed out their glasses and collected the dirty napkins before hurrying upstairs to meet Richie in the bathroom. He didn’t say anything or pay any attention to the joke Richie tried to make with his mouth full of toothbrush and spit, just wetted his own toothbrush and got to work.

All it took was one glance out of the corner of his eye with his brow cocked for Richie to get the memo and shut up...mostly. 

“Wait… Really?” He asked, leaning down to spit out the toothpaste in his mouth before asking the same question again. “Really?”

Eddie just shrugged at him, because was it really that surprising that he’d be invited to bed? Eddie had asked him to sleep over after a plethora of Richie’s jokes surrounding “Christening” the new home… The new bed.

They’d picked out a mattress together. The only natural next step was to break it in.

“Well, shit!” Richie started brushing his teeth more eagerly and then rinsed the brush and placed it in the toothbrush holder Eddie had by the sink. 

He had a home now… A place Richie could leave his spare toothbrush the way Eddie did at his apartment. The idea had his chest swelling even as Richie was closing the bathroom door to ‘give him privacy’ so he could get ready. Over-eager motherfucker. 

Eddie finished brushing his teeth and came out into the bedroom to find Richie already stripped down to his underwear and socks, looking startled that Eddie had made a reappearance so quickly.

“Everything okay?” Richie asked.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine,” Eddie answered, taking off his shirt slowly—trying to look casual as he mulled over how he was going to make the proposition for an on-the-fly sort of scene. It wouldn’t be any different than the last one they’d had...the _first_ one they’d had, only he wouldn’t drop this time. He wouldn’t. He just _wouldn’t._

“Did I...miss something? Or—Shit! Do you have a toy in?”

“What? No! That’s not… No.” Eddie shook his head and tried to keep his cool. Richie would say yes. He had no reason to be nervous. “I just wanted to see if...if you wanted to have a scene or...something.”

“Uh… I could—Yeah, I mean. Are you sure? Like, we didn’t… We didn’t talk about anything. I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

“No, I know I don’t _have_ to. That’s why I’m _asking_ you if you _want_ to. Nobody’s forcing anybody,” Eddie said, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. Okay, maybe he should’ve thought this through more. He just didn’t expect Richie to have any qualms… Though maybe he should’ve. He was the one who had performed poorly the last time they had a scene. Richie was justified in not wanting to have another—

“I don’t have any of my gear here, Angel… I didn’t bring anything—”

“I bought things,” Eddie said, words still clipped.

“What? You went to the sex store without me?”

“Don’t be stupid! I went online...”

Richie’s brow quirked at that and he moved to sit on the bed in some poorly-executed seductive pose. “You’re visiting sexy websites and not telling me? I’ll have to punish you for that.”

Eddie couldn’t deny how that simple phrase, most likely spoken in jest, had his heart skipping a beat. 

“Care to share with the class?” He looked so cool and casual, smirking with his head propped up by one hand, elbow digging into the pile of Eddie’s new, decorative pillows. 

“It’s all in the bottom drawer of my dresser. I have to get prepped.” Eddie ducked back into the bathroom after setting his shirt aside in the hamper and closed the door. Not even a second later, he could hear Richie tearing for the dresser like a dog chasing a tennis ball. 

And that was the man he was in love with…

God help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to cut you off there. Smut chapters are like 6k words on their own and I didn't want this one to be a 12k word chapter. More fun coming up soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think! I know Mark is a horrible person and a bad representation of the D/s community. Do not burn me with these flames.


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